Prologue

I guess if you're reading this, you don't know much. But then, when this is over, I won't, either… Moving on. Because if you did know much, you'd stay away. We can't let the Factionists get hold of this information – or any human who has it. So if you're human, and reading this, and thinking you're oh so brilliant for finding it, please allow me to set you straight.

You are only truly brilliant if you stop reading RIGHT NOW and maybe burn this copy of this story. Or delete it from your memory word by word as you read this warning. That would be good. Or you could give this to someone you REALLY don't like, so when the Heraldic Hunter squads arrive, they get killed, not you. I'm just kidding; please don't do that. I only wrote this as a resource, not a murder weapon. Properly responsible Heralds or Colonials are the only personnel allowed to read this.

So all you humans out there, STOP READING NOW. Final warning: this story is HAZADROUS TO YOUR HEALTH.

Sorry about that, Heralds, Colonials. Please, know that I, Leora Tovinia, am ever at you service – NOT. Anyway, please be careful with this information. I wouldn't want anyone to do anything, uh, hasty.

Chapter One

"All I wanted was a little sightseeing," I muttered. "That's all. No giant robots, no war, just a little canyon side stroll."

"I don't think Zeta was really interested in what you wanted, Leora. He just wanted you to help him." As helpful as Dolf thought he was being, he was not helping my foul mood in the slightest – except maybe for the worse, which was definitely not in his best interests if he wanted to continue leading a normal, happy life. Or any life at all, for that matter. I rolled my eyes.

"That's what I mean! He's a big bot. Zeta can take care of himself. Why pull me into his problems?" I demanded of no one in particular, and anyone except Dolf. Who, of course, answered me. He shrugged.

"Gee, I don't know. Maybe it was because we're the ones with battlesuits and brant swords?" he tried, voice dripping with irritating sarcasm. So I rolled my eyes again. (Hey, I'm a girl and a Herald. I can roll my eyes if I want to!)

"I still don't see why I have to…"

"You don't. We're not here to make you do anything you're not comfortable with doing," Kumi Prime snapped. I whirled on her. Kumi, like most of the huge mechanical beings who'd landed on my planet last week, was much taller than five-foot-seven me. At ten feet tall (roughly), Kumi Prime was on the short end of the robots' height spectrum. Her new armor, which was bright silver, was a Heraldic-style upgrade from her original gray armor. Kumi bore both a conventional robot weapon (a clumsy ene…enre…ener…energon! Energon blaster) and a Heraldic sword (which had been enlarged by, like, a thousand percent to fit her hand).

"Like slag you're not," I snarled. In truth, it was Zeta I was annoyed with, not Kumi. The lugnut had just crash-landed on my planet nearly killing me, and totally ruining my walk in the park, then been offended when I chewed him up and spit him out (Robots don't digest well).

I guess I should have some amount of compassion for him. After all, his girlfriend – oops, Counterpart – Bathilda Prime, supreme ruler of their home planet, Cybertron, had just died before the lot of them all came here. I didn't really understand the whole Counterpart thing, or the details of his Herald/Colony idea, but I had given Zeta and Company the benefit of the doubt. Even if he WAS several circuits short of a motherboard. Like, ten or twelve critical circuits short.

Anyway, I was stuck with Kumi as my guide to Cybertronian culture and Dolf (a Herald, like me) as my tail. I was teaching Kumi the art of Heraldic swordsmanship (or swordsbotship, as the case may be). Well, Kumi was better than Dolf the Dolt any day – just ask anyone who's met him for half a second or more. Any of us would take Giant Alien Robot over Goi-Who-Must-Spy. And I do mean anyone, even other Gois. More on the Goi organization later, I think.

"Leora, where are we going?" Dolf asked in typical Dolf style, breaking into my thoughts like a bulldozer. Think the Devil's name, draw him near, I thought ruefully, quoting Gyps's favorite saying about the Gois.

"I am going to see Zeta. He has a project for Gyps," I explained. Dolf cast a pointed glance at Kumi Prime, obviously asking if she was coming with. Which she was. "Kumi is my guide to the newcomers' culture, and my sword-student. She comes with me. You, Dolf, YOU will not even be a fly on the wall in this. You will go back to your Counsel masters and tell them that. Be glad I tolerate you and that I have given even as much information as I have. I do NOT like spies." As I had anticipated, my comment containing the 'S' word made the Dolt bristle angrily.

"I am NOT a spy!" he shouted. I raised an eyebrow at his outburst, but said nothing for the moment. "Well, I not," he mumbled under my disapproving glare. I grimaced to myself. What was it the Counsel called their Fly Fleet again? Oh, yes.

"Oh, yes, you're a Goi, aren't you?" I corrected myself slowly. "What does that stand for, again? Generally Offensive Idiot?" Dolf looked like he was about to blow up, his face was so red from lack of oxygen. He couldn't breathe, he was so steamed up. I eyed him worriedly. "I don't think that's particularly healthy, Dolt," I informed him tartly.

"YOU – KNOW – VERY – WELL –WHAT –GOI – STANDS – FOR!" Dolf yelled. I nodded.

"Sure, but why don't you remind me real quickly, before you go back to the Oasis?" I suggested calmly. I swear by the Forges, Dolf should get one of those little fans you can attach to your battlesuit so he doesn't overheat. The desert can do that to you when you're frustrated.

"Goi stands for Gatherer of Information!" Dolf roared. I grinned wickedly.

"Control your temper, Fly," I told him lightly. I have to admit, NOW Dolf was improving my mood. Gois are so fun to mess with. Those of you who don't have one tailing you just don't know what you're missing. The Gois, of course, are never amused by these taunts. The Colonials, however, find them incredibly hilarious.

"Why, you little…"

"Goi, you may work for the Counsel, but that doesn't mean you're invited along on my business trips – or allowed on them, either. Scram," I commended. Luckily for me, my family (the ever-famous Tovinias) held a strong position independent of the Counsel's grip. We could also act with impunity from their persecutions simply because the Tovinia authorities would get us first. Anyway, Dolf the Dolt scrammed, leaving me and Kumi to mosey our way over to Zeta's top secret Colonial headquarters, which were incredibly glamorous, high-tech, and TOP SECRET. So, in other words, it was a hole in the canyon wall, also known as a CAVE. Please do not ask how I got away with keeping the gigantic alien robots in a cave right by the most important city on Heer-olde. Just don't, okay? Please? For me? No? Shoot. Well, I don't have to answer to you; I've already written all this, so it's not like you can drag anything out of me I don't want to put down, right? HA! I DO have power here, after all!

Any who, my planet (for those of you who are too slow-witted to realize this) is called Heer-olde. My people (the residential runaway asylum patients) are the Heralds. By the way, we really are insane for the most part. The Tovinias are sane, but the rest of the planet (particularly the Counsel) is plain old crazy. Particularly the Counsel. Oops. I already wrote that. Oh, well.

My planet is Heer-olde, which means home-place in our language (Heer-oldec, or home-land-speech), is mostly desert. Within this desert are Life-Pockets (leif-tecksopas), which gave birth to my people, the Heer-oldak (home-land-ones). One of these Life-Pockets became the center of power for my family – the Tovinias. We rule about one fifth of Heer-olde; the rest belongs to the Counsel.

Every generation, a few Tovinia children were sent to be mentored in the Counsel's lands. The caverns in the canyon near the Oasis (the Counsel's power center) were our refuge from the Counsel's prying eyes. It was a refuge the Cybertronians had made quick work of turning into a military camp, despite their assurances that they were out of the war back on their home planet.

"Leora! I didn't know if you'd be coming or not!" Gyps called. I guess I'd better tell you about Gyps. She's my best Heraldic friend, and the best weapons and metal smith in the whole of the Oasis. Gyps was, of course, Tovinia-born of the Smithing class (her last name was A'Tovinia as a result). She was assigned to the Oasis to make sure the Counsel never got ahead in weapons technology. If they did, they might very well scrap the truce between Tovinias and Counsellanders.

"Gyps, old girl, you've got to learn eventually; I always come when I'm needed," I reminded her. Gyps was actually only a month or so older than me, but everyone called her 'old girl' because of her hair, which had been bleached almost white by the dessert sun and forge-fire heat-power. Gyps smiled.

"Did Zeta tell you anything?" she asked, changing the subject. I shook my head, glancing at Kumi, who seemed just as mystified as we Heralds. She shrugged; she didn't know anything, either.

"Has His Leaderness told you anything, Gyps?" I inquired. She grinned.

"Not much. He's got a death grip on information, our Zeta," Gypsanna A'Tovinia told us. I rolled my eyes.

"I wish he weren't 'our' anything," I muttered, just loud enough for the others to hear.

"That feeling is mutual, I'm sure," Gyps replied with dreadfully accurate honesty. I didn't really care whether Zeta liked me or not. It was my job to keep him from making deadly mistakes here on Heer-olde, not be his friend.

"Still, did our friendly neighborhood dictator tell you what was up?" I demanded. Gyps nodded, confused.

"He just said he wanted some sort of case for an artifact or something," the Smith confessed. Kumi gasped. Obviously, this was enough of a hint for her to know what was going on – or at least have a pretty good guess.

"THAT'S what he wants!" she exclaimed, confirming my suspicion. I crossed my arms and glared.

"All right, Kumi Prime, start talking," I commanded. Unfortunately, my bad luck was still holding out, and Zeta called right then.

"LEORA!" The bellow echoed around the canyon. "I know you're here, Herald! Get over here!" I sighed and (true to my discontented mood) rolled my eyes again. Hey, I'm a super-powerful, female Herald; I can do stuff like that.

"Come on, guys; His Leaderness's aft is calling," I told them. Gyps snorted. Kumi smiled, too, but she was for too loyal to Zeta to actually laugh at his expense. The whole Cybertronian Guard was like that.

We reached Zeta's Cave-in-Canyon-Wall base a few minutes later. Here, let me put down the layout of Cave-in Wall, or simply Cave. The original cavern itself was large enough to serve as Scissorwind's office. Scissorwind was bigger than Kumi (ego and all), brown, and Zeta's bodyguard/secretary/advisor/friend. Big job for an even bigger jerk, in my opinion. Anyway, behind Scissorwind's office was Zeta's meeting room. It looked a lot like any meeting place for a secret group of alien robots, but a tad more primitive (being a cave, and all). Beyond that was Zeta's chamber, where His Leaderness spent his spare time (probably doing one of his two favorite pastimes; coming up with new ways to push my buttons and letting his brain module turn to a slagging heap of molten scrap), and after THAT was a hidden entrance to the Forges, back at the Oasis. Gyps had her own little forge-fire beside the passage, to work on projects for Zeta And Company.

"Leora. You took you sweet time coming," Scissorwind greeted me. I bared my teeth, making him flinch.

"So what if I did? It's MY sweet time, after all," I told him extra sweetly, just to get the point across that he had no place commenting about my timeliness (or lack thereof). Then I let my voice take on an iron edge as I continued, "However, I was getting rid of my Goi tail. So you can take your comments and…." I was just about to tell him where I thought he could shove those stupid comments of his when the door to Zeta's meeting room slid open. Yes, the Cybertronians got door rigged up somehow (don't look at me; I just manage their manners – or try to). His Leaderness, in all his stupid Leaderness-ish splendor (or, once again, lack thereof), emerged.

"Gyps, Kumi, Leora," he greeted us. I un crossed my arms in order to better put my fists on my hips. I pressed my lips into a thin line. I was NOT pleased. Zeta had forgotten elementary conversation protocol – AGAIN!

"Zeta, we've been over this about a billion times! You're supposed to address the highest-ranking Herald first. That would be me. Gyps is a Smith; she's the same rank as me, but Smiths don't start conversations," I scolded. In case this sounds out-of-date to you, I'm sure it's because the Counsel or Governess or someone decided to update the Converse Etiquette. But that's how it was in my time. Conversations in public were formal events, highly dictated by rank, position, and topic.

"WHY do I have to learn all these dumb rules, again?" Zeta complained. I say 'complained' because it would probably be improper to admit that the leader of Cybertronians on Heer-olde was whining (well, he was!).

"Because you're on OUR planet, in OUR society. You can't make such serious blunders, or there will be consequences I can't control," I warned. As old and "dignified" as this guy was supposed to be (like, a few million years old), he was still immature enough to actually roll his eyes at me. And HE doesn't have the reputation of the Tovinias to let him get away with it like I do.

"Whatever," he muttered, as though he were a small child, who was trying to provoke a teacher or parent.

"You, Mister Leader's Aft, need a serious change in attitude," I snapped, my limited patience giving way to unlimited anger and irritation. Unlike Scissorwind, I hadn't beaten Zeta's helmet in enough times yet for him to know how foolish it was to cross me. Therefore, he lacked the experience to know that now would have been a good time for him to duck and cover. Instead, he plowed on with the Surly Infant Routine.

"Why? You're not my boss!" Zeta, also known as Mr. (Im)Maturity, whined. You know what? Slag it all. He was whining. I was SO past my 'Keep Calm' point. I wanted to draw my sword and end my misery by chopping his head off – and Scissorwind's.

"By the Forges, I slagging well AM your boss, tin-head!" I snarled. "Get that through your titanium-plated skull, you overgrown toddler! You want to get chopped to itty-bitty pieces of scrap? Then don't change lanes now, buster, 'cause that's exactly where your ride is headed!" Gyps seemed smug; Kumi was trying to hide what appeared to be very close to a smirk.

"Leora, calm down," Scissorwind begged. I shook my head.

"No slagging way. Zeta's old enough to be chewed out and not cry – I hope," I added meaningfully. Scissorwind winced, but backed off.

"Listen to Leora, Zeta," Kumi requested. "Her protection can only help you so much if you run around constantly insulting every Herald in sight!"

"Zeta. It you offend some of those Heralds out there, they will kill you. No questions asked. Not even 'what in the Forges is a giant robot doing in my conversation?' Your armor doesn't stand an ice crystal's chance in a Forge-fire against our brant swords. And you're still carrying the Matrix while we wait for Warria to be ready to accept it," I reminded him. Kumi nodded seriously.

"When you put it that way…" Zeta began.

"And I am," I interrupted.

"It's a good thing Gyps will be starting on the Matrix casing today," he finished. Gyps gasped.

"What Warria's ready?" Kumi demanded. Zeta nodded solemnly.

"Almost. She chose her Counterpart earlier today," he informed us. Kumi snarled. I knew she was furious about missing the ceremony. Zeta didn't seem to notice, however. "We'll appoint her Ruler of Cybertron and Governess of this Colony as soon as Gyps is done," he continued. I scowled. Kumi mirrored my expression so fiercely that Gyps gave us a funny look.

"What? I'd think you'd be happy, Leora. Soon you won't have to deal with Zeta anymore," my friend pointed out, confused. I gave a sharp nod.

"Except that the Counsel will expect invitations, and Zeta will have to learn how to properly interact with them. Which means more of our oh-so-cozy protocol lessons between now and then," I reminded them all. Kumi sighed, the turned to Gyps.

"Take your time. Zeta's got a whole new set of manners to learn, and he's really far from the point where he'll survive the ceremony without a sword through his head," she told the Smith, who shook with pent-up mirth.

"He'll be lucky if it's only ONE sword," I pointed out, "Given the way his mouth gets ahead of his tiny brain."

"How long will it take?" Gyps wanted to know. I shrugged.

"Let me get back to you in about a month or so; I'll know by then," I informed her glumly. Zeta groaned. I raised my eyebrows at him.

"My apologies, Herald," he said meekly. I nodded my approval.

"SO you HAVE learned something," I commented. Zeta nodded.

"Yes, Herald, I have," he agreed eagerly. I rolled my eyes.

"One step past way too far," I told him. "Try to moderate your, uh,…"

"Yes, Herald, I understand," he insisted. I gave him a proud grin.

"Better."