SOME WORDS TO KNOW..

Ab’katori – (Ab-ka-tor-e) An old Autobot word for, ‘the place where life ceases’; the old arena
Mire – (Mi-r) The site of a ancient factory, it’s a unhabitable plot of land in Cybertron constantly plagued by acid rain and radiation.
Dourjer Beryl – The creator of Rom I, father of Rom II who was the creator of Metatisic. He ordered the construction of the great dome area of the Iysurus’ palace grounds and it’s great imperial waterworks; a ancient Decepticon monarch.
Vornling – a Autobot or Decepticon child (youth); newly or recently created.
Herak – (He-ra-k) First generation prototype ‘seekers’
[ ] – Words between brackets [ ] indicate that another language (Delepic) is being spoken.

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Continued....

A small opalescent blue female gently tugged at Delusion’s elbow as he leaned in his seat, brooding. He looked up from his funk, ignoring Prime’s long-winded speech about the militias, and sighed. With a single finger he toyed with an outcropping on the collar of her armor lazily.

"What is it now, Wordplay? Surely nothing could be worse than having Duon stomp me on the floor…" He murmured to her.

She shook her head and whispered. "I don’t know about that, Sir, but there are some mechs here with an active transmitter-- and what appears to be a direct link-up to the group on the other side of the Zone."

Delusion’s cyclotron skipped rythem. A triumphant look plastered itself across his face, followed by one of eerie calm and snide pleasure. "Well well… this changes everything, my dear. Do show them in."

"Now? In the middle of Alpha Prime’s…"

"Yes, now. Immediately, if not sooner. Go. Go go go go go!" Delusion shooed her away with his hands before rising elegantly from his seat. He felt a subtle sense of rightness return to his universe. Yes, Duon and his glitch were going to eat every single negative statement they’d made. Sideways.

"I do hate to interrupt you, Prime. But something truly… wonderful… has come to my attention just now and I am compelled by my very nature to share it with you all…" Delusion began.

---

Servo stood before the Assembly. He wasn’t as cowed as Stickshift, who stared at them all as if he was just about to keel over in system-lock. They were just a bunch of mechs and femmes to the elderly bronze warehouse owner. "We’re receiving a transmission direct from Steelheart and her caravan at this moment."

The council murmured amongst themselves, but waited while the old mech hooked his relay into the main speaker system.

Zero-zero leaned over and whispered something in Duon’s audio.

"This whole transmission is suspect. I am informed that Steelheart is a member in a group listed under leadership of a mech known as Voyager. Why are we not speaking with him?" Alpha Duon demanded.

Stickshift repeated this over the communicator. Then he laughed as he got a response. It broke his awe to pieces and he continued to chuckle as he replied, "She says you are, sort of. Voyager’s boosting the signal right now."

Delusion snorted in obvious wicked pleasure at the expression Duon wore.

Prime leaned over and whispered something to Beta One, who gasped and then swatted his shoulder.

The Emirate rose from his seat as soon as the last connections were made and Servo gave him a signal that they were ‘on air’.

"The Assembly is gathered and listening. What have you to say to us?" Xaaron intoned solemnly.

There was a moment of silence. "Well, Ah reckon Ah’d like to say hello first."

Omega Blue’s sudden basso guffaw made several other members of the Assembly break into helpless laughter.

Delusion’s expression became even more smug and he lounged in his seat as if he owned the entire auditorium, legs crossed and leaning. His chin in one hand he wiggled the fingers of his opposite hand at Duon.

The huge mech glared at him.

Xaaron coughed politely. "Hello to you too. Now, what exactly do you want to tell us."

"Well, we made it and there are folk on the other side of the Dead Zone, firstly…" Steelheart began.

A scraplet made more noise skittering through refuse than could be heard in the Assembly hall.

Duon looked as if his optics were about to fall out of his faceplate.

Five snored against Beta, but her attention was riveted. She gripped Alpha Prime’s hand tightly.

"Am I hearing you correctly?" Xaaron rose from his seat, his voice hoarse in amazement. "People…? Robots, not Quintessons?!?"

"Yeah. In fact… Commander Coronach, would you do that purdy thing again and say howdy to the Emirate?"

A male voice came over the transmitter. "I fear you will never tire of showing me off…" The Commander sighed without any real upset. "Ahual akh em Karna, Xaaron-kaam-neb."

Five shot up from his seat in a sudden burst of activity. He hadn’t displayed such energy in vorns. "Aka whet czan?! Fak-uum sat em!"

Everyone but Zero-zero stared at him in shock.

Zero-zero frowned. "Ektamswe, Fadeh."

"Carro-et, sat bend aa." Five growled back at her, blue fire glittering in his optics.

"Czast. Mekut-cali. Fadeh, setka em isfet." The ancient female replied in a stony voice.

"I thought you said that you did not know Delepic, Steelheart." Coronach sounded profoundly confused.

Xaaron frowned at both the ancient mech and the rusty femme. "I don’t know what you two are saying, but I suggest you keep it to yourselves…"

"Ah don’t. Voyager don’t neither. Nobody here knows." She protested.

The young Commander harrumphed to himself. "Very curious indeed."

Xaaron, looking the slightest bit embarrassed, answered the Herak. "I am terribly sorry, Commander Coronach. I have never even heard that language before you… and the two eldest members of my Assembly… spoke it just now. Steelheart is telling you the truth."

"You are the Dourj... leader of the Cybertronians then?" Coronach asked, pointedly.

Xaaron looked around the Assembly. There was a fierce discussion in hushed whispers, but the Emirate set his jaw and answered for them all. He answered for his world. "Yes. I am the Emirate of the Assembly."

"Very well. I will accept your word, Emirate of Cybertron."

There was some sort of exchange just out of transmitter range. It sounded a lot like Steelheart was complaining to the Commander about him not believing her… and some sort of stilted apology on Coronach’s part.

Servo grinned and muttered. "Go get em."

"Holy Halogen Illuminators!" Stickshift squeaked. "Images! I mean… somebody-- does anyone have a booster? This console can’t handle them!"

"I’ll bet that thing needs a 9-80 receiver to get pictures." Servo commented thoughtfully.

In a mad scramble, that would have been funny at any other time, the council members checked paneling and their own stations for the appropriate device.

"Wordplay!" Delusion hit his console, "Check and see if I have a 9-80 receiver somewhere…"

Over the communicator, her silky voice replied. "I know you don’t have one… or I’d have it."

Omega Blue, gigantic before all the others, stooped down and held out a tiny box. "Servo," he began in his deep slow voice. "I have a 9-60, will that be enough?"

Servo nodded. "I think so. Stickshift, gimme a hand."

The two robots leaned down over the console as every Assembly member crammed down on the floor. They bumped and jostled for position even as the small viewscreen in the closest wall flickered.

The first images were hazy. Outlines and shadows. One of the winged shapes waved until another one smacked it in the back of what appeared to be its head.

"Hey, y’all getting this?" Steelheart came over again when the work was finished.

Suddenly the viewer snapped to total clarity.

Not even Servo could find words for what they saw.

A golden city, laid out underneath a warm yellow star whose light seemed to be steadily increasing over the breems that passed, presented itself to view. The two shapes from before were indeed winged mechs. One was a fiery orange-red, the other a dusky yellow.

That was not the most fascinating thing, however. Their optics, like chrysobar, were scarlet... like fire, like the red star. They glowed with internal light, much as any Cybertronian's would.

"Look at their eyes!" Someone from the bleachers sputtered his amazement.

"T-the legends!" Piped another.

Steelheart’s voice crackled over the band, "Let me introduce y’all. Those are the Commander’s friends, Canticle and Quodlibet."

Canticle looked offended. "Wingmates."

"Huh?" Steelheart asked.

A voice behind her, probably Coronach, mentioned, "They are my comrades. We are trined… we are a team."

Steelheart made some sort of sigh and turned the receiver. "There’s Voyager, he can’t talk now or we’d lose the signal, but he’s got a heap lot of stuff to show y’all when we go home…"

Coronach coughed. "That will be some time farther in the future, I believe."

The viewer swung around to face the blue Herak. "Well, of course. We just got here… Oh, by the way, that’s Commander Coronach."

Alpha Prime, startled into action by the sudden view of the city as she turned, spoke up. "Delusion, these must be the mechanoids you mentioned. That… fantastic… architecture is not the work of nomads."

A voice - that sounded like the red seeker’s - quipped, "Nomads. Feh…"

Delusion didn’t reply. He simply smiled. It was a grin that consumed his entire frame. He looked like he might start dancing.

Alpha Duon’s optics were so large that another mech could have set boats in their blue and sailed in them.

Beta offered. "The constructs are most elaborate… the city… even bigger than Iacon…" She pressed forward. "Pan the city again!"

The spires and towers glinted in the growing light of the star. Gilded, they glowed as if they were carved from solid light.

"It is not simply a city, madam. This is Bractos." Coronach spoke. "This is our capital… is Iacon the capital of Cybertron?"

Beta blinked. She looked at Xaaron.

Xaaron answered firmly. "Iacon is the home of the Assembly."

Coronach replied. "Ahh, and you are Emirate of the Assembly…" Beeping interrupted whatever else the Commander was about to say.

"Pardon me."

Steelheart chuckled. "It seems like no one can get away from them dang pager things, no matter where in the world you are…. Oooo, lookie that!" The receiver swung wildly, past the group of Cybertronians, who were looking around too, still chatting. Then it fell on a massive gate.

Rising up like some sort of frozen solar flare, the graceful arch was festooned in garlands of crystals and streamers in crimson, gold and deep violet.

"Isn’t that the purdiest gate y’all ever did see?"

"The banners, What do the colors represent?" Omega Blue asked unhurriedly.

Steelheart seemed to think for a quartex. "We’ll, ah don’t rightly know. Quodlibet?"

"Those are the colors of the Empire." His voice was filled with tangible pride as he stepped into the shot.

Alpha Duon sputtered. His optics really were going to fall out of his head if his lids opened any wider. "E-empire?"

"The Empire of Ta’nak…" The yellow flyer almost trilled the last word.

"Excuse me, Sir, um..." Duon was obviously having a difficult time being civil. He did it so rarely it wasn’t really a surprise.

"Quodlibet."

"Yes. Kwad-li-bay. You said the 'colors of the Empire' ?!"

The jet blinked. "Of course. Is something wrong?"

"N —no." Duon said, finally defeated. He just caught the faint iniquitous grin crossing Delusion's faceplate out of the corner of his optics.

Coronach, in a tone that left no room to question who was Commander, spoke next. "I have been informed that the Dourjer expects our presence just after the Apex."

"Apex?" Prime questioned. As he did so, Steelheart panned up with the receiver, probably following a gesture from one of the winged mechs.

As if in answer, the sky began to fill with a massive flux of white-gold incandescence. Quodlibet folded his arms, then his body, in an artistic form to the star that now began to consume the sky itself. Everything was so bright that what was barely visible was cast in stark black shadows. Then, even the shadows were gone and there was nothing but the all-consuming brilliance.

Steelheart gasped. "Oh my word… it’s… it’s…"

Lines started running through the transmission. Static crackled and spots started to appear.

"Na' draac myr carda!" Voices chanted. The Heraks, other robots, the whole city seemed to speak as one. An entire melody of voices intoning the same solemn words in their strange, almost musical language. The sound of plating thumping in time to the words as they rose and fell, enhanced the entire effect. It was like the pulse of a cyclotron… one… giant… cyclotron.

The communication sputtered as the visual transmission finally cut out

"IT’S PRIMUS!" Gridlock shouted just before the sound clicked off with a pop.

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CHAPTER 14: Living history of the Ab’ katori

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Cybertron - Midlands; The council of the Elders - Autobots
(Delusion’s master revelation ..)

Wordplay had come to stand behind Delusion. He knew because her venting systems made a particular noise completely unique among most of the femmes he’d encountered and he was hearing it now. It was quiet but three decibels higher than normal, almost like a hum. He found it… attractive.

“Somehow I don’t think you’re here to grope my fenders, my dear, even given our semi-private circumstances.” He purred as he hefted a large locked box off a shelf. “What’s on your mind?”

Wordplay fixed him with a look, her blue optics blazing. “What’s on my mind, Sir?” The title, out of her emitter, was a sneer. “What do you think is on my mind?! The council is in the middle of a heated session and YOU just saunter out! We don’t even know why the transmission cut out! Or what the envoy meant by Primus! You’re one of the only clear thinkers on the council. They can’t afford…”

He smiled over the container. “Darling, did it ever occur to you that I might have something tucked up my paneling?”

She looked as if she were going to make some sort of retort about knowing exactly what he had in his paneling and not being very impressed by it, but paused. Then a smile stretched across her pearly blue face. It wasn’t a nice expression. It was sneaky, the exact twin of Delusion’s own. “You’re stirring them up for something.”

“Instinct is easier to guide, after all. Plus, if Duon starts anything now…” He balanced the box on one arm while throwing the back of his other hand dramatically on his forehead. “I can play the wronged party for Xaaron and my argument will carry even more weight.”

Wordplay looked upward briefly, as if to ask for help. “How dumb do you think Xaaron is? You aren’t often wrong, Delusion, but you’re not wronged much, either.”

“Not for very long, anyway.” He drawled, putting both hands firmly back on the box in a way that made Wordplay cough.

He motioned her in front of him, even as she gave him a quick look that said maybe she’d changed her mind about his paneling. Perversely, he asked, “Could you get the door for me?”

Frowning, she turned. “Yes, Sir.”

“Thank you.”

.

1

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“All of you, return to your seats! I’m sure the interference will clear any time now!” Xaaron tried again. It didn’t seem to matter that the static could suddenly be banished and that the entire council would look like scraplets scrambling over a rust pile if the visual feedback suddenly started working. It hadn’t before, but the equipment was so old… who knew? The small yellow Emirate was desperately trying to reign in a type of pandemonium he had never seen before. Everyone was talking at once, some even coming to blows over positions. This was hardly orderly democracy as he knew it. They weren’t even listening to him!

“Primus can’t possibly be there!” Alpha Prime insisted. He sounded almost as if he had to convince himself of that as well. He glanced at the darkened screen again before running a hand helplessly over his helmet.

Duon snorted. He crossed his massive arms over his chest. “I told you that…trinket… was just a giant glowing rock, A-3.”

“Jealousy doesn’t become you, Duon.” Beta took Alpha Prime’s hand in hers to stop his nervous picking at his helmet. “Besides, do you forget that Delusion has just proven his case?”

Losing his confident smirk, the large bronze robot looked away. “We’ll see if he’s proven anything. I will be most interested in the data being gathered by our envoy.”

“Oh they’re ‘our envoy’ now?” Beta One snapped. “I can remember a time when you disowned them as crazy for wandering around in the Zone.”

“This conversation has ended. Trion, silence your cybershrew,” Duon growled.

“Cybershrew?!” The green fembot’s optics narrowed dangerously.

Xaaron shouted. “That’s enough. You three, of all the council members, I expect some decorum from…”

Alpha Prime, as if suddenly coming back to himself, turned his full attention on Alpha Duon. “That is hardly how a council member should address another.”

At last he seemed to have gotten through, but all his hopes were dashed in the next moment.

“That’s all you have to say?!” Beta yelled at her spouse. She desperately tried to pry his hand off of hers. “Let me go, and I’ll show him what kind of cybershrew I can be!”

A terrible shadow crossed over the Emirate. He hardly had time to move before he heard a deep slow voice utter. “Sorry, Speaker.” Omega Blue, the great hulking brute that he was, had almost stepped on him in his desperation to hear Five and Zero-Zero’s explanation of the ancient language they’d spoken. Xaaron was barely safe perched on the back of a chair. He scanned the room desperately for a spot of calm where he could get someone’s attention just about the time Delusion came back through with a large box.

Unbelievably, the spymaster’s sudden appearance with the object started a ripple of confusion in the crowd. Xaaron quickly seized upon it. “Quiet! Quiet! Everyone return to your seats! Delusion has something to present and I, for one, want to hear what he has to say!”

“Thank you, my Emirate.” The darker robot smiled as he continued his pace across the room. He moved like platisatin sliding off a firearm, with the same smooth threat. It made Xaaron wonder what his original function had been under the Quint rule. In fact, he realized how very little he actually knew about Delusion at all-- or any of the others for that matter. He glanced around at the council members who took on an aspect not unlike Quintesson abominations. The Emirate powered down his optics for a moment, then brought them back on-line. It was the pressure of the new discovery, he was certain, playing tricks on him. All he could imagine was fighting two wars at once. The horrible feeling that this was some sort of trick, but that couldn’t possibly be… could it? He looked again at his Assembly, who were as normal as usual, a rag-tag collection of Cybertron’s wisest, best and brightest.

Delusion’s presence worked magic on them, parting the crowd around him as smoothly as a maser through antimony paste. “Stickshift, Servo… if you please? I know you’ve been largely ignored in all this distasteful chaos, but I would be most appreciative if you’d set up the viewer to accept these old datacorder disks.” Delusion’s voice was soft and sibilant, quite at odds with his aura of authority. He handed the box over to the confused Stickshift, then sauntered back to the center of the room.

The rest of the Assembly, curious about whatever he was up to, began to slowly drift back to their seats. Xaaron vented a sigh of relief, but an unsettling feeling had drifted into his very core. He resolved to question Delusion after session. Perhaps he could get answers out of him. The Emirate was not hopeful, Delusion wasn’t known for uncomplicated replies, and yet there was too much Xaaron had left to chance up to this point. He’d not even considered it dangerous until now, but things had changed. If there were secrets about the others, he knew beyond a shadow of doubt, Delusion would know them all.

“Does he always act like that?” Stickshift mumbled to Servo as they checked the contents of the box.

Servo grunted at the quality of the recordings. It would require a great deal of modification, but it wouldn’t be impossible. “You mean slinky over there?” He pulled out his toolbox, unconcerned if Delusion paid attention to him or not, and started searching for the appropriate laser to take the casing off the viewer.

“You crazy old bot, do you want him to hear you?” Stickshift hissed as he laid out the disks in order of age.

“Bah. He’d find out anyway. That one is a sneak, his reputation precedes him.” Servo started work on the viewer. The laser threw sparks off over his hands as it cut into the housing, but he didn’t seem to notice or care.

Stickshift let the matter drop. Instead he busied himself with handing Servo whatever he asked for and pointedly not looking in the direction of the spymaster. He glanced around at all the other Assembly members, a little nervously, and wished he was anywhere else but here.

They were imposing, even as they conversed casually among themselves. The Emirate and the commanders, guardians, elders, scientists in all manner of specialties he presided over were looking down at him as if he were a scraplet. Though perhaps not as short as Xaaron himself, Stickshift was small and under the sea of unforgiving blue optic light, he felt even smaller. “Will you please hurry?!” He hissed at Servo.

“Hush, kid.” Servo changed the configuration on the player and then reattached a section of the internal works. “What do you think of them red-eyed robots on the broadcast?”

“I think I want to get the frag out of here as fast as I can.”

“You remember I was talking about those gladiators.” Ol’ Servo grunted as he adjusted something. “They’re supposed to look just like that.” He held out a hand.

“I don’t care at this point. I just want to go home.” Stickshift looked down at Servo’s hand as if it were possessed. “What?”

“Gimme one of the disks, genius. How did you ever get by working for me anyway?” He snatched the disk from the orange robot’s fingers and settled it in the player gently.

“Look, you know me. Under normal circumstances I’m really calm. My circumstances haven’t been normal for the last astrocycle, so cut me some slack.” Stickshift grumbled. “This feels like I’m back running repair supplies to the militia…”

Servo grunted again and signaled Delusion. “It’s up, and if anything’s going to happen, it’ll happen now.”

The spymaster nodded, folding his hands. “Please begin, Servo.”

As the screen started to flicker, Delusion began to speak. “As you all well know, council-mech Five and I are well acquainted. I have often found myself quite fascinated with his tales of the Beginning, and so, some time ago, I was particularly captivated by these recordings he brought to me. He found them here in this very building, where we now claim as a place of peace and the home of our Assembly. Hidden for eons as even he and those like Zero-Zero were, they survived. Shelved. Forgotten. My fellow members of the Assembly, prepare to witness the terrors and triumphs of a forgotten age. The living history of the Ab’ katori -- which Five told me means ‘the place where life ceases’...”

Five himself was asleep again, slumped over on Beta, peaceful in repose. The spymaster decided to let him recharge instead of waking him. There was really no reason to disturb the Elder unless he needed to ensure that the others knew that what he spoke was the truth. Duon might require such proof later, as he was a stubborn mechanism, but for now he left Five to his tranquility. After all, he’d lived all this first hand. Turning his serious gaze towards the screen, Delusion watched too as the first recording began to play. There was no sound and the picture was badly digitized, fading in an out, but there were bursts of clarity. Such came now. Beta’s sigh was louder than a backfiring engine in the stillness.

A red femme, the lower half of her face obscured by a silver battlemask, was using the cannon on her arm to lay waste to a line of opponents before her. Each molten explosion threw up a cloud of vaporized rock from the arena floor. She was indeed being shot at, but seemed not to care. She suddenly leapt down, leading a charge. Her soldiers came rushing over the wall in a wave. They hammered away at the dwindling line of the opposing team. Without even pausing to think of what was occurring, they used the tangle of dead and fallen as cover and the vapor to enshroud their movements over the now rough terrain. It was as if they fought like other mechs vented. Effortlessly. The gladiatrix herself, optics narrowed into glowing red slits, was shoulder-to-shoulder with her team and illuminated almost continually in the baleful light of her cannon discharge. It was impossible to read her expression, but the look in her optics was grim. There was no joy to be had here.

The recording degraded further and then snapped back to clarity in the middle of another fight.

Blue-black metal filled the screen interspersed with silver and green blazes. Sparks shot from twisting frames and one could imagine the terrible groaning, grinding, shearing noises that rent plating and damaged servos would make. As the camera pulled away, there were two femmes wrestling-- but this was no mild sport. Their red optics burned like molten metal in a smelting furnace and their beautiful faces were twisted in an attitude of unquenchable fury. The blue one with the knife brought it down onto the green one’s chest, only to have the blade snap instead of piercing. The green one took advantage of her foe’s surprise by delivering a haymaker to the femme’s jaw. This sent her flying. Rising, wiping black fluid from wounds already marking her arms and face, the green femme seemed to snarl out a challenge to the fallen gladiatrix even as she crossed the Arena floor to where she lay. Suddenly, up from the murder holes in the floor of the Arena, two other females erupted. They’d actually blown the seal out to get up where the match was being held. The green female barely paused, engaging them as well, but there seemed to a purpose to their actions. As the scuffle continued, they eventually covered the area where the fallen gladiatrix still reeled. When the struggle rolled aside, the blue femme had disappeared down the hole.

Static and digitization clouded the end of the match, but not a single member of the Assembly made a sound.

Delusion gestured for Servo to change the disk. There was crackling to this one, as if there had once been an audio track, but it was so badly degraded that nothing at all came through. In places the disk fell completely dark and the shifting of the Assembly indicated they were losing their patience. Then, on the screen, a yellow glow dissolved into a figure that bore a heavy energy collector array on his back.

It was a close up on the statuesque mech in deadly motion, his red optics narrowed at his unseen opponent, arms coming forward and fingers gesturing as if drawing the very lines of the universe to a single pinpoint before him. A massive discharge of blinding white energy that made black waves form in the recording followed. The camera angle changed – possibly because the other camera had been rendered inoperative – , looking down from on high. The golden gladiator walked to his foe, now nothing more than sputtering lump of slag. His head was bowed. There was a shot of the crowd. Quintessons filled the screen, screaming and flailing their tentacles in savage glee. Their silent blue-opticked servants, some with horror-stricken expressions, seemed not to know which was worse… their masters or the atrocity enacted on the Arena floor. The angle changed again and the victor scanned the crowd with a serious expression. He took the pose of conqueror, his ped resting on the charred hulk beneath him and fist raised, but he seemed to be seeking something among the throng as well. His ruby stare was piercing and it was the last thing visible before the recording dissolved into static again. There were murmurs now, but they hushed quickly as the next fight suddenly coalesced.

Chained to each other with light, two robots fought on a narrow platform over a tank filled with sharkticons. The Assembly, to a mech, fell completely silent. The leaping of the beasts at the unprotected backs of the warriors was too raw, too reminiscent of the Pit.

The blue fighter, emblazoned with a strangely cheerful pattern of yellow stars, spun incredibly fast, winding the photon chain around himself. He came almost chest-to-chest with his surprised enemy and, before the mech had time to react, he swung his sword. Amazingly he wasn’t trying to kill the purple and orange gladiator, instead he used the tension on the line between them to snap it with the swing. He grabbed the hand of his enemy and actually threw him through the energy shield that protected the top of the ring, as if it had been planned that way. The purple gladiator cut through the crowd mercilessly, leaving only the servants alive. Just as the platform over the tank was dropped by the Quints in the control booth, the starred warrior took a whirling leap himself. He hit the newly reinforced energy shield, but, by driving his sword through it and into the arena wall, he managed to hang in place above the tank. His star patterns scorching off his body in contact with the shield, but he clung still. His burning gaze was fixed on his enemy… or perhaps ‘fellow conspirator’ was the word. The violet warrior fell in a tangle of drone guards and it was only a moment before a bright explosion marked his death. The starry gladiator closed his optics only briefly, but even as his casing was ablating from him he clung stubbornly to his sword-- refusing to fall into the dark waters below. His desperation and pride were palpable. Bad digitization robbed the Assembly of the conclusion.

“As you can see… there is a grain of truth to all legends…” The spymaster’s voice was smooth and soft, contributing to the dream-like silence that had fallen over the others. “And we have now seen, their descendants do indeed exist beyond the Zone.” Nodding to Servo, he indicated that the disk be changed for another.

“ENOUGH!” Roared Xaaron, suddenly. His voice was sharp with outrage and betrayal. “I do not know for what reason you have played the Assembly for fools, Delusion, but it will cease now!”

The dark Autobot jerked as if he had been struck and Servo actually dropped the next precious disk to the floor. “I have played no one, Emirate…” Delusion insisted.

Rising, the small yellow Speaker continued his pained explosion. “You know how desperate we are! You led us around with your whispers and taunts! All the while you KNEW! You knew your supposed speculation was true and you contrived to make us all look like fools! Worse yet you have wasted precious time and lives!” Xaaron, looked down, placing a hand over his face to contain his rage and collect himself.

Duon was on his feet in an instant, a savage smile lighting the edge of his face. “I knew you were up to something. Do you want to address the death tolls again, Delusion?” He stalked towards the smaller dark mech.

Delusion was stock-still, the blue windows of his eyes torn wide in anger and revulsion. He, usually so quick with words, was dumbstruck. He didn’t even think to become invisible, he just stared up at the huge bronze Elder as if he simply could not believe anyone would consider him so callous.

“You entertainment units are all alike-- you don’t think anything is valuable but yourselves. You didn’t do hard work like the rest of us…” Duon sneered.

Delusion didn’t even have time to react before the big Elder had him by the throat. Wordplay screeched from the doorway and there was the sound of a fight ensuing. Someone, it sounded like Xaaron, was shouting for the guards to keep her off the floor. Five was bawling, Beta shouting… It was almost as if he was watching it all from outside his own frame. Delusion heard a sustained fluid-clotting scream. He almost thought it was Wordplay again, but he found it was his own. He saw his hands claw at Alpha Duon’s but they didn’t seem attached to him. He was consumed in the dark space his mind had created to get away from his master…

Alpha Prime’s doubts about his position evaporated the instant Delusion went slack in Duon’s huge fist. It was just like being in the field and watching one of his own people as they slowly passed into the void.

“LET HIM GO!”

All optics fixed on Prime. He stood up and repeated his command. “Alpha Duon, you will let Delusion go, NOW!”

Duon raised his chin, but he let the spymaster’s feet touch the floor. “Alpha Trion, this pretty toy is a traitor to this council and you have no authority over me. You saw that transmission. You are no more Primus than I am.”

“Primus may indeed exist beyond the Zone.” Alpha Prime walked down from his seat. “But he has chosen, through the Matrix, a succession of leaders here on Cybertron. And here I AM Prime. You will put Delusion down or YOU will be committing treason against me, the Assembly, all of Cybertron and Primus himself — wherever he may dwell.” He frowned. “Do not make me order you again.”

Struggling with himself, Duon seemed almost on the verge of letting Delusion go until Xaaron interrupted. “Alpha Prime, this affair will be handled as I see fit. Retake your seat.”

“Be silent, Emirate Xaaron. You would let this wickedness perpetuate before your very optics because you feel personally wronged.” Prime argued, “Think with your logic processors instead of your base programming. If Delusion had showed you these recordings before and there was nothing beyond the Zone at all? Think what that false hope would have done to us? It would have stripped the very light from our optics! If anything, his actions were both prudent and wise.”

Xaaron glanced away, shame rolling over his features. Prime looked at Duon. “Release him!”

Alpha Duon dropped Delusion instantly, as if he had been shocked with high voltage. He wore a stunned look that slowly turned into regret. He looked down at the darker mech and his slash-like optics dimmed.

Wordplay broke free of the guards holding her, streaking to his side. She pulled Delusion into her arms, speaking softly to him. He stared and did not seem to hear. Delusion’s paneling was vibrant. It was obvious he was in no danger of physical death, but one wondered about his mind. All pretense of unfamiliarity between them was dropped. Her sobbing cut the air like a vibro-blade, but he still he stared at something far away, his optics dark.

“Despite what you may all tell yourselves, Assemblymech Delusion was no mere toy.” Alpha Prime looked from where Wordplay cradled Delusion, up to Xaaron and then to Duon, pausing on each face in between. “When I found him, he was barely alive and running on fumes, but he clung to his spark fiercely. His casing was gone, eaten by rust or shattered by vorns of abuse and neglect. When he’d been repaired enough to speak, he told me…” His voice trailed away in slowly growing contempt. Then he shouted, “Delusion’s master hated the very sight of his slave so much that he had an experimental customization done. That very ability that many of us envy, the ability to become unseen, was a punishment!!!” He shook his head, “And you dare imagine him to be an entertainment unit-- good for nothing but playing games. You should all be ashamed of yourselves.”

He started to pace. “And I am ashamed most of myself. I’ve been silent too long. I didn’t want authority because I did not want to be a master over any of you, but I see now that the reverse is just as bad. Look at us!”

He shouted again, rounding on Xaaron in particular.

“How are we any different from that crowd on those tapes? Chaos. Arguments. All shouting as Duon was going to crush the life out of Delusion. It sickens me and it will not happen again. Xaaron and I will co-chair all Assembly meetings from now on and I expect the respect my station is due, henceforth.” Prime glared, pointing at the red sigil emblazoned on his chest. “We declare ourselves mechanisms of peace and order, the very offspring of Primus himself, and so we will act like it… but I will have no guilt from any of you. When we reconvene tomorrow we will discuss our options in relation to our potential allies like rational beings. For now, this meeting is adjourned! Get out of my sight!”

.

2

.

Ta'nak - Bractos - G9-L4; the taxi - Lower level docking
(And the endless fascination of Voyager ..)

“That was certainly enlightening, in more ways than one,” The Autobot named Voyager was commenting to anyone who’d listen. “The star’s apex produces a wave spike and it’s as if the construction of the city amplified it. Like the whole inner structure is designed to concentrate stellar radiation. Even now the lingering effects would prevent a transmission from leaving the city for at least a megacycle if not longer. I think there must be a purpose for this, but I can’t imagine what it could…”

Coronach observed the band of Cybertronians with a studious optic as the whip-thin mech continued to talk. They seemed more than a little shaken by the Apex, as well they should have been. Even now, with the city still so bright, they were hushed and talked little. Except for Voyager. The Herak Commander privately believed that nothing short of a direct bomb strike could silence the little mech.

“…time to determine the function. This architecture is fantastic. There are no fewer than ten different periods represented here. I can tell the style differences immediately. The lowest visible level is reminiscent of the earliest Quintessonian fortifications with some overlaying work that is striking in its individuality…” Voyager burbled happily to himself, recording everything.

Gridlock shrugged as he continued to walk. “It’s big. Plenty big.”

Voyager huffed. “Honestly, you have the descriptive capabilities of a mecha-vole.”

The big tricolor mech shrugged. “At least I’m not short and loudmouthed.”

“Well I never!”

“Probably not,” Gridlock grumbled.

Coronach listened only halfway to the argument and tried to keep his mind on business. Because their guests could not fly, they would have to ride the vertical up as far as possible and then walk the remaining bridges inside the Iysurus. It was a laborious process but there was no alternative. They could not be flown in a transport because it was easy to hide an assassin in the ship’s paneling. No, the risk to the Dourjer was far too great, especially in light of the recent murder attempt.

As they approached the lower transport ring, the rising tower simply swallowed the sky. He’d seen it a million times before. Still, with each viewing, especially with the Alpha-Centauri still so bright, Coronach felt a sense of rightness. Here was the center of Ta’nak. It was if the great ray of the heavens bored into the very stone below. In the tales it was here the gates of the underworld were shattered and that the Karna was first held aloft by the hands of the Red One. It had always been one of his favorite stories and somehow returning to the Iysurus proper made him fill with hope and wonder.

It was a shame that not everyone could sense this connection between the very gravitation of the star and themselves. The Autobot female still bore an aura of somber anxiousness, now more so than before, pulling at her hands with her optics riveted to the ground. It was as if Steelheart were afraid that the very demons of the underworld would leap at her if she looked around too much. He almost wanted to pull her aside and ask.

“Commander?”

Coronach turned his head quickly. He was almost embarrassed to be caught staring. “What is it, Quodlibet?”

If Canticle’s expression had been any more dour, he would have sworn someone had plugged his intake with sulphur. Coronach couldn’t tell if he was being reticent for a reason or if what Quodlibet was about to say was really that bad. The yellow seeker made some sort of motions with his hands and then just gave up trying to narrate them. He pointed. Coronach followed Quodlibet’s finger with his optics… and tried very hard not to laugh. Really, it wasn’t that funny-- he had to focus on getting their guests delivered.

Voyager had found something ‘fascinating’ again.

Puttering around with his bizarre collection of tools and humming, he was scanning a parked and empty trolley in one of the closest tubes. Coronach raised a hand, calling the group to halt. He needn’t have bothered to open his mouth, because Gridlock was immediately in motion.

“We got places to go, Voyager. Come on, you can scan this stuff later!” The big Cybertronian scolded, trying to pull him out of the tube.

“No! It’ll only take a minute. The propulsion system is highly intriguing and did you take a look at the center of gravity? The trolley’s platform can spin all about and never drop its passengers! They don’t even have to sit down! It’s much more advanced than the passrail in Cybertron…”

“This people’s Assembly is waiting for us, Veeg.” Gridlock coaxed, “Maybe even Primus himself. Do you really want to keep Primus waiting?”

Voyager snorted as he continued to scan. “Primus, feh. A little radiation discharge and you all lose your grasp on reality… And don’t ‘Veeg’ me. I hate that nickname. Steelheart should be eternally ashamed of herself for giving it to me. Me! The finest mind that Cybertron ever…” He passed his instrument box over a part of the floor. Then did it again. He bubbled happily, “Oh wonder! Look at this, Gridlock! Do you know what this is?! Alpha Trion absolutely must be…”

A voice came through the tunnel. It first spoke in Delepic and then it repeated itself in the common tongue: “Destination: Sector A3-B Residential Housing, Artisan District. Acknowledged.”

The trolley came to life and, in the second of chaos, there was screaming. As he launched himself off the deck to fly parallel to the tube, Coronach reflected in a distant part of his mind that he never thought anything as big as Gridlock would sound like a femme when it screamed. His recorder and instruments caught in a furious death-grip, Voyager was shouting the word “stop” in as many different dialects as he could manage while jumping up and down in frustration. It seemed as if nothing would naturally obey the whip-thin mech.

Coronach barked, "He'ett-o!”, while stalling his own engines. He stopped instantaneously and hovered. The trolley jerked to a halt, its breaks locking. Gridlock was on all fours, arms over his head. Voyager, having been mid thwarted stomp, was ejected out of the tube. He sailed through the air and landed head first in a delicate potted crystal. Frustrated shrieking from the small mech eclipsed the harmonious sound of the living rock splintering. His thin legs kicked helplessly from the pot, as if he were some sort of sculpture trying to draw attention to the destination map above it.

Gridlock pulled his hands off his head and looked up. In a weak voice, he offered. “I’m real sorry about this, Commander.”

Coronach sighed and tried to ignore the various whoops and laughter from his wingmates and the other tinkers. “As am I, Gridlock.” He put out his hands. “Come.”

The big Cybertronian rose and took them. Without preamble, the flyer engaged his thrusters in a short burst. He could hear Gridlock praying to his god, Primus under his breath and the imploring didn’t stop until his feet brushed the ground. Some part of Coronach admired the mech’s devotion. Releasing his hands, the blue Herak landed himself. Gridlock, his fear evaporating with his feet contacting solid matter, immediately began a stomp over to the pot and its irate contents. “Voyager, I tell you, if you ever get me into something like that again…!”

Coronach tuned out the angry bot’s threat as he turned. Led by Quodlibet and Canticle, the group of tinkers were jogging up the deck to join him. “I want no more interruptions. Canticle, go ahead and secure our transportation. Quodlibet, with me.”

“Yes, Commander.” Both seekers answered unison, each following their orders.

Coronach himself turned, Quodlibet at his elbow and marched over to the destroyed crystal. Gridlock was brushing off the silver mech. Voyager was fussing. “This is absolutely outrageous and your behavior towards me unconscionable. I would have figured out the command, eventually. And I still don’t see why another look would hurt…”

Gridlock growled. “The only thing yer gonna be look’in at is my podal tread in about ten astro-seconds, shorty.”

Voyager drew himself up. “I will not be spoken to in such a manner! If the Dourjer is anything like the Emirate, then he will understand scientific inquisitiveness as a reason for delay.”

“No…” Coronach assured as he put a heavy hand on the thin mech’s shoulder. “He will not. We’d best hurry.”

“Fair enough, Commander.” Voyager said, obviously pleased not being shouted at. “What was that word you used? I might need it again and I didn’t get a clear recording over Gridlock’s wailing.”

Coronach frowned as he steered Voyager around, trying to ignore Quodlibet’s snicker and Gridlock’s grumbling. “How about ‘no’ and ‘just don’t do it again’,” The blue flyer retorted. He found, to his immense relief, that Steelheart had taken care of his next order for him. She’d brought the group of Cybertronians to the access junct where Canticle had disappeared. They were waiting quietly.

“I think that’s rather unfair, Commander.” Voyager pouted as they walked.

“Fair or unfair, it’s a matter to be addressed at another time.”

In short order they were at the junct as well and Canticle’s trolley had slid into place before the deck. Coronach vented in a long sigh and turned to Steelheart. “The initiative was well taken in moving your mechs.”

The red female answered him with a nod. “Well, Ah reckon that’s what Ah was supposed to do. Now how about you tell us where ta park ourselves on these transport doohickies here. Ah don’t want ta end up like Voyager.”

Coronach allowed himself a short chuckle. Watching Voyager sputter as Quodlibet showed him the appropriate way to stand on trolley flat, he shook his head. “I doubt very much if there would even be an outside chance of that, Steelheart.”

Those blue optics sparkled at him as she smiled. If she hadn’t been pulling at her hands still, Coronach might have derived more satisfaction from it. As it stood he wanted to catch her hands and demand to know why she allowed this particular nervous behavior to display. Didn’t she realize she was eventually going to loosen her servos and scratch her finish? He kept such thoughts to himself and tried to focus on the business at hand. Even as he stood next to her on the trolley, he did not ask nor give any outward sign that he was becoming increasingly more worried. She couldn’t be an assassin could she? Even as he thought about the possibility, he forcibly dismissed it. The idea lingered in the edge of his consciousness. It taunted him and Coronach’s demeanor reflected it. His face was grim.

“So… where’re we going?” Steelheart asked in a low voice as the platform zipped through the tube. She was obviously trying not to attract Voyager’s attention. He was down scanning the panel under Quodlibet’s feet and happily occupied.

He glanced sidelong at her, still unable to decide if she were a threat or not. “To the Iysurus.”

“B-but Ah thought we were already there.”

The Aerial Commander shrugged. “Technically we are.” He pointed up, way up, through the translucent tube wall. “But that is where we are going.”

Her cerulean optics grew huge. “All the way up there?”

Coronach nodded. “Yes. To meet His Highness.”

“Ah bet a body could get mighty banged up if’n she fell from up there.”

“More than banged up, madam. Dead.”

She pulled at her hands. Coronach wished for the millionth time that she’d stop. He continued to wish, but nothing was forthcoming as far as an answer. There was little conversation the entire ride. Voyager provided most of it talking to himself. Coronach had no trouble believing that the silver mech was in love with the sound of his own voice. The semi-silence had begun to irritate him greatly. He kept looking at the femme and she kept pulling at her hands in the most annoying way. Occasionally she would catch him staring and give him a wan smile.

[ Commander? ] The red seeker asked in Delepic.

Coronach snapped his optics on him immediately. [ What is it, Canticle? ]

His voice must have been sharper than he intended because Canticle’s expression was one of semi-surprise. Even Quodlibet glanced at him askance.

[ We’re approaching the landing. I think it might be best to give the Cybertronians here a crash course in court etiquette. If you aren’t feeling up to it, I’m sure ‘Libet and I can manage. ]

Quodlibet frowned and didn’t bother to hide the conversation anymore. “You? Manners? Please.”

Voyager didn’t make a sound, but he looked up and started to listen actively to what the Heraks were saying. He started to tap a slim silver finger on his intake as he thought.

[ Oh shut up. Just because my vocalizer isn’t annealed in silver like yours doesn’t mean I don’t know how to behave in the presence of my betters… ] Canticle complained.

The dusky yellow flyer snorted. “You admit you have them? Well, that’s a step in the right direction, at least…”

Canticle grunted and scowled at Quodlibet, who chuckled.

“What does he mean ‘manners’, Coronach?” Steelheart asked in a quiet tone.

Coronach vented and checked his internal temperature. It was fluctuating again. He really had to have that checked. His entire life he’d never had such a problem maintaining his thermal equilibrium. Frowning, he turned the scrolling information off and focused back on his Heraks. [ No. Your point is well taken. I will see to it myself. ] To the femme he said, “Do you remember the words I spoke to your Emirate?”

She nodded.

“You will have to speak them to the Dourjer as closely as you can manage, and I will teach you the other phrases you need to learn.” He explained.

Voyager scrambled over. “And me? You will teach me as well?”

Wearily Coronach nodded. “Yes, I will teach you as well.”

The slim silver mech almost clapped his hands together in joy. “Excellent. The recordings will be most important…”

He ignored Voyager’s happiness. Very slowly, Coronach repeated the greeting. “Ahual akh em Karna, Metatisic-kaam-neb.”

Steelheart watched his mouth, mimicking the enunciation with him silently as he ran through it again. He noticed the other Autobots taking interest and increased his volume. It wouldn’t hurt for them all to know.

“I don’t know why you just don’t record it and play it back while engaging your vocalizer to automatic.” Voyager huffed, interrupting.

Steelheart clenched her fists and glared at him. “Cause some of us don’t have those damn fancy-aft features! You got all them logic processors and not a single thought about anyone but yerself flashes through there does it?!”

The slim mech looked wounded. He blinked and looked away. Steelheart ground her jawplates together, venting in sharp bursts. “Not all of us worked in offices afore the war, Voyager. Remember that.”

Coronach frowned. Every time she said something he became more concerned and more curious. He was half afraid she was a Rougeon. He didn’t want to believe it… but some of her references… and her nervousness gave him that half-formed conclusion. No. He didn’t believe it. He touched her shoulder. “I think he has been scolded enough, Steelheart. This is more important.”

She looked up at him. “I didn’t mean it to be…” It was almost as if a shadow passed across her features and the anger bled, almost visibly bled, out of her. The haunted expression had returned and she folded her hands. He knew that in a second or two she’d start that blasted pulling again.

“Now, do you think you have that greeting down?” The seeker prompted.

She nodded. “Ah-wall, awk im Kar-nah, Metatiesick kahm neb.”

Coronach winced. “Close enough.”

“Ah’m sorry. Each accent ahdentifies a different district. In Iacon they speak real proper-like… in Kokular… most everyone talks like me. Mah identi-programmin was just particularly strong.” Steelheart offered embarrassedly.

“It was not terrible,” Coronach squelched her concerns. “It will just remind the master that you are indeed from very far away.”

Voyager piped up then. “Pardon me, Commander.”

Coronach glanced at him. “What do you want, Voyager?”

“What exactly does this greeting mean?”

“Keep well, thou born of Karna, Metatisic whose light is of our Lord.” Coronach translated easily.

“Fascinating… so much of your language revolves around the ‘ka’ syllable. I’ve heard you mention it regularly in everyday speech… all of you…” Voyager bubbled, indicating the other Heraks and Bractos in general.

Coronach nodded, but didn’t feel the need to explain himself. Besides, part of the great mystery was simply not for outsiders to be told. If they found out, that was one thing, but one does not broadcast the very nature of the divine to all unsundary. It would be rude on one hand and foolish on the other.

“That’s very purdy.” Steelheart offered quietly.

The blue Herak smiled. “Yes. I like it myself. It says very much in only a little space.”

“You mentioned other phrases.” Voyager said, optics intense. “What are they?”

Coronach felt as if something cold had been dropped on him. “When he responds, and you know because he will open his hands toward you. You will then say; Bentra Metatisic, Bentra! Meta-sa Rom! Upaset neb Rail neb Oraymenis neb Megadyne! Bentra per sa et ka sharika Karna.”

Gridlock whistled. “Primus alive, that’s a mouthful.”

Steelheart waved at him to be quiet as Coronach began again. She gave the same attention to this round as she had the last. Voyager seemed to be more intent on keeping himself contained than having a second recording. He was probably going to explode with the need to ask what this one meant too. These strange blue-eyed robots drew odd looks from servants and other warriors as they whizzed by in the other tubes, all focused on the Herak commander as if he were some sort of schoolteacher.

Canticle interrupted this time, coinciding with the trans-hover slowing down. “We’ve arrived, Commander.”

Though the tube held a faint blue-green illumination, this actual level of the Iysurus was rather dim. None of that, nor the slowly building atmosphere of grandeur, seemed to have any impact on the Cybertronians at all. Fortunately for Voyager’s health, disembarking didn’t halt the lesson any. The knot of Autobots exited the trolley more or less in state, raptly listening to Coronach.

“And… so… what is this one?” Voyager asked as soon as there was pause enough to.

“This one is a list of the Dourjer’s titles. Hail Metatisic, Hail! Sacred son of Rom, Keeper of the throne of Megadyne. Hail to you heir of Karna's most golden rays!” Coronach responded.

Voyage nodded. “Yes. Lots of the ‘ka’ syllable…” He muttered to himself as if checking his databases.

Gridlock ventured. “The Dourjer ..he’s your Prime. I mean… the light and all.”

Coronach frowned. “Prime? Like that strange word… Premus? No. Primus?”

Steelheart nodded. “Yeah. Somethin like that Ah’d reckon, Gridlock. If’n he ain’t Primus hisself.”

The seeker commander tried the word out in his mind. Emirate. Prime. He wondered if one was a descriptor of the other-- like the throne names of Megadyne or the statements of position in a sovereign’s name. He waved Canticle to the point position as they began the slow turn to the right- reflecting briefly on how inconvenient it must be not to be able to fly.

The great tricolor mech shook his head. “I don’t know if I can hold my oil if it is. I mean… really meeting Primus…”

“If I hear one more mention of that I think I’ll start boxing audios,” Voyager huffed. “Not everyone subscribes to your particular brand of insanity. Besides, you’re interrupting the Commander.” He fixed a pointed look on Coronach. “Please, continue.”

Without a frown, the blue Herak began to feel as if he were part of an experiment. He didn’t like at all the way Voyager presumed to talk to him… and he knew the Dourjer would be even less sympathetic to the small Cybertronian’s attitude. He glanced at Steelheart. A femme would be charming in her ignorance and questions… a mech. He looked back at Voyager. A mech would soon annoy His Majesty.

“I think we need to make something completely clear.” Coronach said with a certain amount of authority. “Your own mechs have declared you unfit of processors, Voyager. Steelheart is their chosen leader. Do you understand me? Your authority is only extended so long as I choose to grant it and so long as Steelheart herself does not argue… and for this meeting you are unfit to address His Majesty. You have no sense of when to stop, nor where respect and diffidence are required.” His voice softened. “I do not tell you this to be cruel, I only say what is true.”

Voyager looked crestfallen as he walked alongside Coronach. “But… my function is communications…”

“I know.” Coronach said quietly, “But you seem to lose all sense of meaning in the communications. You even say the name of your god without feeling ...like an identity plate on a bin of tools.”

The slim mech blinked. Steelheart patted him on the back but he shrugged it off and narrowed his optics at her. She pulled back her hand with a worried look. She glanced at the Herak Commander. He raised his chin. Now was not the time to spare feelings.

“Now, the response. The Dourjer will invoke the Exceptional Engender,” he touched his own forehead in reverence. “And then he will ask you several questions. The response is the same for all. You must say; Bentra Megadyne, Bentra Rail, Bentra Oraymenis. Ta Mar ra Kemka-et sheshat ka heh!” He glanced at Voyager before he repeated it and added, “It means; Hail Megadyne. We will not forget!” He twisted and narrowed his optics at Steelheart then turned his head away quickly. “No Rougeon could utter those words.”

When he looked back she was pulling at her hands again. He was starting to believe some form of guilt might be prompting the action. He focused on the walls to quell the idea. He had no proof, just a lot of supposition. Besides, where had he ever seen people quite like this? With each step the air was growing damper and thick with the smell of ionization. They’d actually come a long way, he realized. The arching of the hall was indicating they were coming close to the heart of the palace. Coronach could hear the water cascading from here.

It was then he noticed a strange behavior among the Cybertronians. They started clumping together and whispering nervously. When the sound had escalated to a roar, they had started holding hands and moving more slowly. As they actually reached the Hyrdodyne Hall, they all stopped. Canticle keyed the shields to extend and there were gasps of horror. They stood in the entry-- just staring at the canyon like expanse. It was as if they’d suddenly lost the ability to move. It was not awe on their faces, but fear.

Quodlibet, who had been chatting with a still sullen Canticle, stopped. He glanced back at Coronach and then at their charges. With a shrug, he turned about. He parted the crowd easily and came back to Voyager with a smile. “Are you sure you don’t want to look? The electroturbines are quite a sight from so high up.” He put out his hand.

There was no word for the sound Voyager made. It was like someone was performing the vilest torture on him. A wail --a long piercing wail-- emanated from his vocalizer and he plastered himself to Steelheart’s side. Hiding his face against her arm.

The yellow flyer had jerked back his hand, totally amazed. Coronach looked around at the other Cybertronians. Among them only Gridlock seemed remotely normal. The Aerial Commander took stock of the others again and slowly shook his head. Looking back at the femme, he found her immobile and inert. Her eyes were riveted on the water churning in the darkness below. There was nothing behind them, their glow lost, as if she’d suddenly become a drone.

Gridlock noticed too. “Boss Lady?”

She said nothing. The black water seemed to be reflected in her optics. Endless roiling darkness that Coronach found reaching out for him as well. Whatever it was, it was horrible. He eyed the water himself now, sensing a sort of malevolence from it he’d never imagined before. With a blink, it was banished… but that flash of misery was enough. He never wanted to feel anything like that again.

“Lady, really. I know you and yours can’t fly but even if you were to fall most of the bridge, platforms and narrows do have a type of repulsor shielding. It would only be dangerous in a few places--” Quodlibet was assuring.

She suddenly focused on him. “Fall… in?” Her tone was distant, but filled with fear.

Quodlibet nodded then walked out onto the bridge, but not all the way to the first platform. He pushed outwards against the invisible shield. Sparks crackled around his hands, shoving them backwards. “See. This extends most places.” He returned, continuing in a friendly tone. “Of course, you’ll still have to be careful. It’s a long way to fall.”

Steelheart took an involuntary step backwards and Voyager squeaked.

Unable to understand why his wingmate was tormenting the Cybertronians with even the possibility of their falling, Coronach interrupted angrily. “There will be NO falling! If there is, I will personally flog you and Canticle myself. Is that completely understood, Quodlibet?”

He appeared surprised and then nodded slowly. “Of… of course, Commander.” The yellow Herak turned and Coronach was quite aware of the look he shared with Canticle. He rarely yelled at them, but they didn’t have visitors from the other side of the Zone show up on the border every astrocycle either. The circumstances were special and Coronach couldn’t fathom how his trine could not understand that.

“Good. Gridlock, since you seem to be least affected… you and Canticle start leading the rest of the mechs across. Quodlibet, you will take the second wave. I’ll bring up the rear.” The blue Herak ordered.

Gridlock looked down at the red seeker, who looked up at him and narrowed his optics. With that inauspicious beginning, the process was uncomfortably slow. Astro-seconds ticked off in the Commander’s mind.

He gently put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a nudge in the direction of the path that spanned the fantastic chasm. They remained stiff, but she didn’t shrug the brief touch off. “Voyager, it’s our turn.” He called.

Voyager moved for the first time since his episode. He slowly raised his face to look at Steelheart and then at Coronach. His face was a mask of embarrassment.

Each astro-second dug in and left tiny footprints across his processors as the seeker was trying to find ways that he could make excuses for their lateness to the master. It wouldn’t be hard to state the reason, the Cybertronians were terrified-- but as to why? The Dourjer might demand to know. Coronach looked at Steelheart. She was patting Voyager on the back and telling him that it was going to be alright even though her voice wasn’t completely convincing. The first platform was the hardest to make.

“Steelheart?”

She almost jumped, trying to keep her focus firmly on the platform only. “Y-yes, Commander?”

He tried to approach the subject tactfully. “It’s more than just not .. not being able to fly.”

The red femme nodded as she crept along slowly. “Yessum.”

“Why do you and your mechs fear this place so?”

Voyager had his recorder out and was scanning the mist that filtered up, and the cascades closet to him. He was careful about it, but a stray leak dotted his cheek in still moments. He was still very frightened, but had pulled out in front of Steelheart.

Steelheart’s hesitation spoke volumes about the taboo nature of this subject, as did her whispery voice. “On Cybertron, we all are powerful afrighted of that black water. Primus… Primus forsakes it. It’s called “the Pit”… a place of punishment… no one who goes in ever comes out. Got these things with gnashing teeth…” she covered her mouth and looked away as if stopping herself from saying anymore.

The crash of the water did nothing to offer her peace. As it passed in the channels and eddies, coming down across the irregular surfaces of the chasm-- she could not appreciate how it bent the light or made rainbows in the mist. Coronach saw all this and it made him frown. This Pit must be a truly wicked place.

Voyager spoke up, offering weakly. “Sharkticons. They’re called Sharkticons.” He wiped at his face, trying to regain his aloofness. It wasn’t exactly working. He still suffered from involuntary trembling with every step.

“Yeah… them things…” Steelheart agreed.

Coronach frowned darkly. “I have heard of such things as you describe. Demons. “Those of many teeth” that haunt the underworld, looking for the sparks of the dead too wicked to reside with the Red One and not pure enough to ascend to Megadyne. You say there is a place on Cybertron where these things are kept?”

“Several places, but the great Pit is far outside Iacon.” Voyager’s voice was becoming steadier by the moment.

Steelheart nodded, but her voice was still not so bold. “The Quints keep em like pets.” Her face distorted almost as if she were going to cry, but she clamped down on it quickly.

The Commander felt his earlier rage coil tightly. “Then they are, as you say, monsters and unclean before Karna... your Primus.”

Walking just before her, the little silver mech was miraculously quiet. As they neared the next to last platform, Coronach thought he heard the scientist whisper, “I didn’t mean to be so ridiculous.” It could have been the rumble and crash of the falls-- but it sounded like an apology. Whether it was for himself or for Steelheart, he didn’t know. It didn’t matter. Either way he was sure that it was accepted.

“Woman?” Coronach asked.

Steelheart dragged her gaze from the path directly in front of her up to his face. “Yes?”

“Perhaps we should go through your expected behavior. Remember, do not look at the Dourjer directly in the optic. It is more respectful to look at his feet unless you are asked to do otherwise. Also…”

.

3

.

Sarterius gave the foreign robosapiens deep thought as they approached the last platform from across the bridge. For some strange reason, Coronach walked side by side with the only female in the group. Her brow ridges were drawn together in intense thought.

“So. It appears the reports are verified in the steel. These blue-eyed 'cons indeed exist. I cannot wager what is more astonishing, that these legends are truth or that the patrols were actually correct." The General mused aloud. This drew some carefully controlled chuckles from Pycon and Chamfer behind him.

“I see you’re having fun at the Dourjer’s expense, Coronach. Fraternizing with females should be something to be done after duty, mmm?”

Coronach jerked around to face the General and he bowed quickly. All of the Cybertronians copied him, as did Canticle and Quodlibet. “Oh no, General Sarterius, nothing of the kind. This is Steelheart. She is their Commander.”

The ruddy female was slow to rise. When she did her face went strange, her icy blue optics narrowing in a split second and her lips compressing into a thin line.

“QUINT!”

Steelheart roared, leaping towards Sarterius. The other foreigners tensed in fear. Coronach seemed just as surprised as he himself did-- but the largest foreigner grabbed hold of her before she could attack. The guards that flanked the General drew their weapons instantly, waiting for the command to fire. Pycon and Chamfer wore dual expressions of suspicion and anger.

She was struggling violently, cables groaning and servos squealing in protest, screaming at full volume. Steelheart’s voice was so loud her emitter was crackling, “AH KNEW WHEN AH SAW THAT PIT! YOU QUINT BASTARD! YOU LURED US HERE, DIDN’T YOU?! GIVE US JUST ENOUGH HOPE…” The end of the accusation ended in a wordless scream as she fought against the much larger mech holding her. Even with his greater size he was having a problem keeping her still.

He had no idea what a Quint was, but Sarterius was sure he didn’t like the sound of the word. It was vile in his mind. Hateful. “Rougeon whore!” There had been one murder attempt just recently and the General was not about to let another murderess get near the Dourjer. Sarterius aimed his cannon and the guards raised their weapons. The high whine indicated they were powering up.

Coronach could not believe what was going on. She had mentioned the Quintessons before. The monsters her people were fighting against. Then Voyager had mentioned them again. He’d never heard the rebellion use that word before… but there was a first time for everything. An upwelling of betrayal strangled his thoughts in angry heat. Let Sarterius kill her. Karna above! He had wanted to be wrong about her behavior. He had wanted to be wrong about her being an assassin. Now that he was proven right, there was no satisfaction to be had in Coronach — only sick anger.

Die, Rougeon wh… He found he could not say the words even in his mind, nor raise his weapons.

No. Quintesson was the word. Always Quintesson.

The seeker remembered how she’d looked back the way they’d come instead of at the grandeur that lay before her. The nervous pulling at her hands that annoyed him was suddenly not an admission of guilt. The inability to look and appreciate what was around her was not because she loathed it... and over the water, the confession about the Pit. He remembered again those few soldiers who’d come back from the front with empty optics. Mechs who saw Rougeons in every shadow because their minds had been too long at war… whose very sparks had darkened with the stains of death.

Quintesson ...

His saw the other guards draw their weapons on her as she struggled. In that moment, he made a decision that had little to do with logic and a great deal to do with instinct.

“STOP!” Coronach shouted, interjecting himself between her and the guards. A fraction of an astro-second later he and she would have both been slag. “Look at me, Steelheart!” He grabbed her face and made eye contact with her. “Look at me. Optics on me. I don’t know where you are, but you have to come back.” He spoke the words in a harsh tone, as he might to one of his Heraks.

“Come back! That’s an order, soldier!”

Steelheart jerked and then vented out a long thin gasp. It rattled in her filters like the sound of something dying. Her blue optics focused on Coronach as if seeing him for the first time. She blinked.

“You’re not in battle! You’re here in the Iysurus with your men. I am Coronach. You know me.” He took a hand away from her face and pointed. “That is General Sarterius. I know him. He’s NOT a Quintesson and he means you no harm.”

There was a sharp snort from the General’s direction. “I haven’t decided that just yet, actually.” Sarterius intoned, but he lowered his weapon. The guards followed his example.

She blinked again and her body fell slack in Gridlock’s hands. Coronach watched as the fluid channels beneath her optics began to moisten. It acted like a lance to his internals and his grip on her face softened.

“There are no Quintessons here.”

“Steelheart?” The small voice was Voyager. All pretense of superiority had fled from him and his faint voice was fraught with worry. “Steelheart… We can’t both have gone eccentric… who’s going to lead us then? Not Gridlock. He couldn’t pour water out of his helm with directions on the crown.”

“It’s true, Boss Lady,” Gridlock rumbled quietly. “I got no sense of direction. For what I did, I didn’t need one.”

She looked from Coronach, to Sarterius and then down to Voyager. A single drizzle of fluid escaped the channel beneath one optic. “Ah… Ah’m sorry.”

Coronach finally relaxed. He paused to wipe the tear away with his fingers, to give her a measure of her dignity back before Sarterius. “Put her down, Gridlock.”

Gridlock gently set her down. The General clapped ---slowly. “An amusing floorshow, though in poor taste considering what happened most recently.”

“General Sarterius,” Coronach pled. “Please understand, this was far from planned. She is suffering from a programming corruption. A loop. Like the mechs from the front ...when certain triggers are keyed…”

“Yes, yes. Psychotic behavior. I’ve seen that,” Sarterius snapped, waving the Aerial Commander aside. He strode forward, a deep frown on his face. He leaned down to look Steelheart in the face. “She doesn't have the look of a warrior... a drudge perhaps..." He narrowed his optics. "But then again, the Rougeon was finely tooled and detailed. Appearances often aren't any clue to intent...” He straightened his posture. “I am unsure of this, Coronach.”

“Yes, General. I’m –” The Herak began.

Sarterius rounded on him. “You know full well what occurred here yesterday. We must act with discretion.”

“Yes, General.”

“Then these mechs and their Commander should be taken…”

“Wait!” Steelheart interrupted.

General Sarterius frowned at her. “You are impertinent but some perverse corner of my spark is morbidly curious as to what you might have to say. Speak.”

She performed the bow to him again. “It’s mah fault. Forgive me, General. Our enemies back on Cybertron look a bunch like you… the ones that have legs, anyhow.” Steelheart grasped Sarterius’s hand to emphasize what she was saying. “Please! The others have come such a long way. They shouldn’t be denied a chance to meet the Dourjer on account of me. Ah’ll wait here if’n Ah have to-- but it ain’t right to punish them for something Ah done.”

A few seconds of silence passed. Looking first at where she dared to grasp his hand, and then back at her, Sarterius seemed to be struggling with his decision and a good deal of shock. His brow lifted and lowered several times. Coronach glanced at the other Cybertronians, then his own mechs-- even Canticle seemed anxious. Steelheart’s bold gaze never left Sarterius’ face. The Herak Commander wondered if the General experienced the same disconcertion under its strange blue focus.

“General, let it be on my head. I will accept responsibility for their actions, and hers,” Coronach offered quietly.

Sarterius snatched his hand from Steelheart’s, but did not frown. “Self-sacrifice is not a quality found in many beyond those who have known the fire of war and the burden of command…” He looked at the flyer. "Very well. Keep a leash on your exotic pet or suffer the consequences. Were it any other than you, I don't even think I'd make that concession, Coronach."

“Thank you, General Sarterius.” The Commander of his Master’s Heraks bowed deeply.

Sarterius gave a sharp laugh as he turned and motioned Pycon and Chamfer to walk ahead of him. “Don’t thank me yet. Your little alien friends may get you executed.”

Coronach’s mouth tightened. He’d always looked up to Sarterius but it was uncomfortable to have the General’s peculiar sense of humor turned on him. “Canticle, before. Steelheart, with me-- if you will. Quodlibet, bring up the rear and make sure no one gets lost.”

Canticle nodded and followed Sarterius. His shiny red form was sharply contrasted against the ancient bronze casing of the General.

Quodlibet seemed a little hesitant. “And if someone… acts inappropriately?”

Coronach glanced at Steelheart, then back at the dusky yellow Herak. “Shoot them. All of them.”

Quodlibet recoiled slightly, but acquiesced and fell to the back. The Autobots gasped and whispered among themselves. Steelheart closed her eyes a moment and nodded. “It ain’t nothin personal, y‘all. Don’t look at him like he’s sprouted another head.”

He was glad for her understanding. The trip was mostly in silence and not even he could enjoy the architecture. Too many things weighed heavily on Coronach’s spark. He was not the only one so cowed. Voyager’s constant questions were slightly curbed… though he couldn’t keep completely quiet. Quodlibet was talking to him. Then again, ‘Libet was often as much given to chatter as the Autobot was.

“No… the Dourjer has no council.” The yellow Herak assured in a low voice.

The whip thin Cybertronian paused. “You have no Assembly or council… B-but then who makes your laws?”

Quodlibet answered without hesitation. “The Dourjer IS law.”

.

CHAPTER 15: Hail Primus! First of all!

.

Bractos - PL-D1; The Great Dome of Beryl - The Iysurus

“Dourjer Beryl you say? Who was he?” Voyager asked curiously. Every single question began this way – they all had. They sounded so innocent, Steelheart knew from experience, but turned out to be little needles picking at your processors for answers. Pycon and Chamfer, she guessed, were not patient creatures by nature and they had even less of that quality to dispense after a few rounds with Voyager. Pycon, imparticular, seemed a mech of few words and it looked like most of them had been used up.

Quodlibet was about to answer when Chamfer snorted. “Who is Dourjer Beryl?” He repeated; his tone almost mocking.

Pycon narrowed his cerise optics. “Everyone knows of Dourjer Beryl.”

“Well I don’t,” Voyager said innocently. “What…”

“It is in his name that this wondrous dome was constructed, narrow one.” Sarterius eyed Voyager with undisguised distaste.

The little Autobot was about to respond when a withering look from Coronach stopped him. Quodlibet noticed Voyager’s shoulders slump and a worried frown passed briefly over his pale face. He glanced at Steelheart, almost for permission, before he spoke to the foreign mech. “He was quite magnificent when he was still among us.” He offered in a hushed tone to the Cybertronian. “He is still spoken of today with greatest reverence, as you can see.”

Voyager perked up. “What were his achievements?”

Quodlibet smiled. “Shall I start with his military prowess?”

Steelheart half-listened to the conversation. History, while interesting, she had little use for and such things hadn’t been required in the factory. The architecture, the sense of power, in the place was immense and it lent a sense of unreality to her thoughts. She wondered if this was all some sort of glitch-- that in a few moments she’d be awakened with the sharp sting of an electroprod in her side and the barking of one of the Masters for her to wade into the acid fumes again.

.

1

.

The Great Dome of the Dourjer Beryl was that only in name. It was more like an ornate kiva that reached up and touched the heavens themselves. With the star still so high it made it look like a dome. It was as if it had a roof of blinding solid golden light. From the lower area, stairs led up into this light fading away into nothingness. Steelheart relaxed, truly relaxed for the first time since they’d come to Bractos. This was something she understood and something she’d clung to in all her darkest moments. Primus would dwell in such a beautiful place filled with light, if he dwelled anywhere.

Even the atmosphere was different here. The ionization rates had changed, giving the air a strange sweet odor-- though nothing as harsh as ozone or anything like that. Steelheart, even with her vast knowledge of chemical substances couldn’t quite place it. Most of the combinations she was familiar with were toxic or caustic in some way. This was anything but.

Sarterius kept a suspicious optic on Steelheart. She could feel the Decepticon’s disapproval like a heavy hand on her back. Not that she blamed him. Lowering her head just slightly, she turned it and saw that he indeed was glowering at her. Feeling bad enough as it was, she tried to lessen his disapproval with a small wave. No more than the raising of her dark fingers. Just to tell him that she wasn’t doing or planning anything stupid or dangerous. His optics narrowed and the frown turned into a scowl. She sighed. Relating to other people had never been her strong suit—- and she’d made a dozy of a first impression on the poor General.

Folding her hands together, Steelheart started to count off the names of the Primes and each one, pulling on her fingers to punctuate every name. As she ran the recitation in the background, she felt a sense of calm return. The edge of a grimace formed on Coronach’s face. Steelheart wondered about him. Hadn’t he ever seen someone pray before? Why did he keep shooting those unhappy looks her direction? If he was angry with her, she wished he’d just say something.

A flash of a helmet caught her attention. Gridlock was leaning back, trying to see through the glare. She watched him squint, his polarized visor coming down over his optics, but shake his head. Not even he could see where those stairs went. The shafts of light down from the upper level began to shift more quickly, almost as if they were moving on their own. The big mech started in surprise and tried to follow them from underneath his visor. He wasn’t the only one. The rest of the crew was looking around and trying to find the source of the distortions.

Voyager, always ever curious, had his scanner out and was trying to take recordings. He banged it a couple times and then seemed to give up. “More interference. I can’t tell if it’s from the building or….” Voyager hissed into silence as a warning diode started to flash on his instruments. He was frantically trying to plug the scanner into his internal grid so he could take a secondary reading off his own sensors, but couldn’t seem to get the port cover off.

“Ah… Ah’ve never seen anything like it,” she mumbled in awe. Gridlock nodded.

Coronach shook his head and held up his finger for them to be silent. He turned his head. “Canticle, announce us to the Master.”

The red Herak bowed, “Commander.” For the first time in awhile, he was pleased. He even wore a faint smile.

As he ascended Steelheart expected him to become shadowy against the light. This was not the case. Rather, the light seemed to enter him the closer he came making his scarlet hull glow brighter and brighter. He was a winged flame rising up towards the brilliance until he just… came apart! There were gasps from the other Cybertronians. Almost unnoticed, the Heraks, the General and his guards took up a semi-circular arc around the stairs, between them and the Autobot mechs. Steelheart put a hand over her intake. It was almost as if Canticle had disintegrated. It set something into motion though. Photons were separating, moving on their own. The light seemed to dance and pool, bent in a thousand different directions. Colors bloomed from the gold, then returned to the blinding white heart. The Karna, the Alpha Centauri, t-the star, was ALIVE! --- it was venting just like a mech or femme.

From the light burst Canticle. Brilliance streamed from his wings as he descended like ribbons of fire off a living flame. He became a solid mech again as he approached them. Far above, the light rippled. It fused into a golden-white form following Canticle at a more stately pace.

Steelheart’s optics grew huge.

"On your knees before the Dourjer! Hail Metatisic!" bellowed the General. He fell to one knee, bending his head. Pycon and Chamfer, Coronach and Quodlibet did the same.

Voyager shrilled something almost unintelligible about his readings that ended in dumbstruck silence.

“P--Primus.” The voice wasn’t hers. It was Gridlock. With that, the tinkers threw themselves to the ground. They tried reciting the words Coronach had taught them. To lesser and greater degrees, they were successful.

The seekers and the General began to chant the greeting that Steelheart had thought so pretty. Echoing here it was… consuming. The sound vibrated the very walls.

She couldn't really see him yet; only a fractured form in the intense glare, but seeing Coronach in the great bow beside her compelled her into action herself. Steelheart fell to her knees. “Ah-wall, awk im Kar-nah, Metateesic kahm neb!” She repeated it as she placed her forehead on the floor, louder. “Ah-wall, awk im Kar-nah, Metateesic kahm neb. Primus! HAIL PRIMUS!”

The tinkers shouted in response. Primus! It HAD to be him! “ALL HAIL PRIMUS!”

As she trembled, overcome with the golden glory, she heard Voyager faintly apologizing. “Primus, forgive me. I have optics but I did not see… I did not see…”

She heard Canticle alight. His feet made the same short clip-clang the other flyer’s did. Then there was a heavy note of metal striking the flooring. It was a solid sound-- the sound of a great being stepping into the world of metal from the world of sparks. Steelheart trembled. She had been right. The winged mechs were servants of Primus himself. She’d actually tried to strike the General of Primus. She shivered in fear and hoped that he would be lenient.

“You may rise.”

There would be many ways she could describe the voice of Primus, but the best she could approximate it to was a warm shammy slipping over paneling. It was smooth and welcoming.

Breathing out a sigh, she obeyed and heard the sounds of the others doing the same. Primus had become a mech of burgundy wine and black-- the colors one saw when they were blinded and unable to compensate for the brightness. She could see his feet were very large. “Ah-wall, awk im Kar-nah, Metateesic kahm neb.” Steelheart said again. This time the others were quiet.

A long pause caused her to quail. She half felt as if she should fall on her knees and beg forgiveness. Then that wonderful voice echoed again. “You are the leader I am told.” It wasn’t a question, but she nodded anyway. “Raise your face and let me look on you, Lady of the Envoy.”

Coronach had said to watch the floor or his feet unless invited to look. This was probably the most direct invitation she was going to get. Too affrighted to look upon him before, she now summoned her courage. Voyager was terrified. Even now still asking softly for the god's mercy, he looked at his own feet-— not even daring a glance at His.

Slowly, Steelheart raised her gaze up to His. She finally allowed her eyes to focus upon the trail of flowing violet that ended in a rippling banner wrapped around his heavy shoulders. The god was crowned and collared in brightest gold, like the light he had been. She looked down guiltily and then glanced back, to see if he was angry. His face was not harsh, nor did he scowl. He wore a paternal expression, in fact. Almost amused. Remembering her manners, she offered. “Bantrah Metateesic, Bantrah! Meta-sah Rom! Upawset neb Reel neb Oraymeeenis neb Megadyne! Bantrah per sa et ka shurikah Karna.” Thinking on her feet, she added, “Hail Primus, First of All.”

“Hail Primus, First of All!” The tinkers repeated.

“Primus.” He repeated his name in that fantastic voice. It resonated when he said it.