Chapter Twenty One
21st December
2250hrs
He was on a planet.
Three suns, six moons, all of them adding their own bright light to the drab desert below. Nothing existed there. No life had formed. It was too harsh and too barren for any organic life, plant or otherwise, to flourish. There were dark orange and red rocks jutting out of the sandy landscape about them. The soil was even dead, hostile to anything that might try to live within. There was no water, nothing to support the gentle and fragile creation that was organic life.
Robotic life on the other hand… his unit marched towards the northern pole, hoping that their communication expert was correct when he stated that it'd have the less magnetic interference. It was stated that the northern part of the planet might contain a zone that wasn't so heavily affected by the massive sources of gravity. Of course, none of them knew for sure.
Their commanding officers had been thrown into a permanent offline status – meaning, they were dead. He was in command now. A scrawny little private who had been through an accelerated training course at the academy. Accelerated because there was no time for a thorough education in the finer points of wall. They just had to make do, if you didn't get snuffed on your first outing, and your second, third and so on, then maybe you were cut out for it this after all.
Desperation.
That's what he'd heard the head of the academy say to one of the officers from a unit that had taken heavy losses at Energon Lake. They needed troops; they needed anyone, just someone to hold a gun, point and shoot, and hope like the Pit you took out a few of the enemy in the process.
Desperation was what they marched with now. Not knowing if they'd make it to the northern pole, not knowing if their communication expert was right, not even knowing if they were a priority to be rescued if their mayday was heard.
Desperation.
The sand was irritating to him, it got in his joints and worked their way into his cables, rubbing against his fuel lines, while it wasn't sharp enough to penetrate into them, it was still annoying. And even if it did find a way in, it wouldn't do any damage, his filters would see to that. But filtering was another process that required energy that he just didn't have enough of. Just stopping himself from remembering friends, family and Cybertron, of better times, that was a lot of energon wasted. He dare not think of happier things, encase he start to dwell on just how much he had to loose and how he probably would drop offline here, where he'd drop down into the sand and slowly break down under the violent suns that blasted down their radiation.
The only thought he allowed to pass through his CPU was the need to get to the pole with as many as his fellows as possible. He was aware that he was vocalising, and quite loudly at that, to his charges positive slogans about how they had to get there to continue the good fight and win back their home world. He wasn't even sure if he'd see their home world again.
He passed his hand up over his forehead to wipe some of the lubricant that was forming and dripping into his optics. It was just another thing to be irritated about. To his left a companion dropped down to his knees, his upper body flopping forward and slightly to the left his face burying into the sand. He stood there, there was not enough energy in him to crouch down and check him, but he had seen enough offline to know this one was dead. It was confirmed by their medic in training who found the effort to kneel and check.
"He's gone, sir".
Came the croaky statement.
He didn't answer; it'd take too much energy. He continued on, leaving the body of their colleague to disintegrate in the unmerciful suns.
Several hours of walking, walking which seemed to get them no where, a voice came from behind.
"Sir, up ahead sir".
The now commanding officer looked up from watching his sand covered feet plough through. There on the horizon was a series of large rocks and there was obviously some caves.
"Can we please rest in that shade?"
Someone asked, obviously no longer capable to bother wasting energy with formalities of "sir". The commanding officer acting replied in the affirmative and they seemed to increase just slightly, their speed to get there.
It took 45 minutes to reach the rocky out lies; he didn't care about the formality of anything, and was certainly not even concerned to bother with organising a watch. He dropped his metallic body to the ground and lent against some pleasantly cool rocks and shut his optics down for a quick recharge.
--
His internal chronometer hadn't worked since the crash. Whether it had been the force of the impact or perhaps something had knocked him over the noggin' when they ploughed into the planet or maybe even this bloody magnetic field and huge amount of gravity the orb processed could be interfering. He opened his optics not knowing how long he'd recharged, but he felt slightly refreshed. There was only so much of a boast his internal emergency generator could produce without an intake of energon. He stretched his legs out and wriggled what passed as toes, his arms above his head his fingers tapered out and gently itched the rocks hanging above him. He stood slowly and was about to gather up his troops when he noticed something unsettling about them.
He could only stand there for a moment and take it all in.
Slowly.
He moved about their still forms, trying to tell himself they were just deep in recharge.
That they'd get up again if he barked a command.
But they wouldn't.
Sometime during his recharge cycle they had died, every last one of them had slipped off into the Matrix or the All Spark or whatever name one wished to attribute to the void.
He'd been sleeping next to corpses and that realisation caused a chill to settle upon him that even in the horrid heat that engulfed the planet did not relieve him.
His memory banks uploaded an event, a class room discussion at the academy where they spoke of what to do should you find yourself a survivor in a dead unit.
Cannibalise what you can and then move on. The mission takes precedence to respecting the dead.
Moving on some kind of spooky auto pilot he walked around their bodies, taking from them fuel cells from rifles and pillaging the small reserves that sat idol in unused generator reserves. That had been another lesson, the emergency generator would produce a small amount of energon for the body, it could give you a few more cycles, BUT, and it was a big BUT, you had to make sure you didn't slip into recharge, as the emergency generator had to be consciously activated and if you were in recharge you couldn't do that. It would be akin to an organic form of life going to sleep with a bleeder. They couldn't stop the bleeding while they slept, and as they slept they'd have no awareness that they're life was seeping out of them.
He felt like a thief, and he tried not to think he was anything worse then that as he ripped an EG from one of them and sucked the energon from it, it gave him a slight buzz and he used that. He pillaged the communicator from their expert and hoped that it would work and that if it didn't he could figure out the repairs. He was on his own now, it was time to get up that stupid pole and hope like the Pit that someone, anyone, intercepted his signal.
--
The EG and the other bits and bobs that he'd pillaged from his dead companions lasted him about six cycles, he reached the pole with enough to spare to set up the radio, it worked, he was pleased, he sat.
That's when he heard it.
The howling.
He'd ignored the feeling he was being watched as he tramped up the sand dunes.
He'd ignored the whispers as he trudged through the dust.
He'd sung to himself brave and morale lifting ditties as he clambered over mountains.
But the howling, he'd always told himself as he marched along that it was the wind, it the was sounds of sand brushing against the many rocky protrusions, it was anything EXCEPT the haunting cries of his companions. The accusations murmured to him as he recharged the hisses that told him he was guilty as he woke, the unpleasant grumbles he heard as he voided wastes. Essentially, he was either going insane… because the other option was just too crazy.
So the howling wrapped around him, it began to take on shapes, shapes that were too familiar for him, the shapes of his kin. It was frightening really. The way the sand swirled upwards and began to twist into creations that weren't quite robotic and weren't quite natural.
"Who are you?"
He pushed his energy into his vocaliser and demanded an answer.
You left usssssssss.
They spoke in unison.
"I don't know who you are! What are you talking about?"
You know who we arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrre.
The sand was whipped up into his face, a few small stones flicking him in the left optic.
"Please! I'm sorry! Who are you! Please tell me!"
We are.
"GET AWAY! GET AWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!"
He cried as he slumped to his knees and bought his hands up to cover his head.
"Please, please, please just leave me alone!"
He looked up momentarily after he felt they had left him.
They hadn't.
The shapes of his unit stood around him, the grains of sand that made up their unnatural forms moved like a mass of ants over a pile of rotting fruit, its sugary juices leaking out and acting as a beacon to them.
We will never leave.
--
Kup sat bolt upright in his chair, knocking several of the data pads from his desk, they spilled onto the floor. He groaned the groan of age and tired experience before he got himself down to pick them up.
"You're not them…"
He said suddenly as he scooped up two of the pads and then slowly stood up. He couldn't see it, he couldn't hear it, he couldn't smell it, but he could feel it. Not in the way a person reaches out and touches with their hands, or has something in the physical plane touch them or brush against them. This was a sensation that the CPU debated existed. But it did exist.
Kup took a step forward towards where he felt it stood.
"Who are you?"
He said firmly, his years of experience with more then wayward Decepticons had hardened him to the things that science could not explain away.
The thing that he felt but could not smell, see or hear seemed to move backwards, unsure if Kup was a) its target or b) worth the bother. It continued to remain in the office while the security officer persisted in questioning it.
Kup sighed.
"Suit yourself then, lad".
He put the data pads on the desk and sat back down, turning to tap into his computer, he had a raft of other issues on his mind, like the escape of the Twins and the mess that Sunstreaker had made when he had his outburst.
Kup wasn't sure if he should be surprised when the data pads when spinning across his desk, flew across the room and slammed into the wall.
"Not a very nice fellow, are you?"
He grumbled as he stood up and walked towards the pads.
"I'm no stranger to your kind, you wanna tell me who you are and what you're after or you just going to make a mess?"
He asked.
It was gone.