Road to Hell is paved with?
Disclaimer: Not mine and I make no profit.
The storm was loud enough to wake the dead and in a way it already had. It had come out of nowhere, taking everyone by surprise. The climate control on Quintessa hadn't failed since the Cybertronian uprising, but now maelstrom of ice and wind swept over the land covered in great mushroom-like cities and tropical siliconswamps. In the chaos only the airfield control noticed the tiny private yacht breaking orbit and they weren't in any position to force the issue. It was a whole deca-cycle later that another ship departed from Quintessa, this one with permission of the Ruling Court. When the airfield control gave it permission to leave Quintessa airspace a small amalgamspike downloaded into the AC mainframe sent a warning to the fugitive yacht.
"This is a terrible idea. This is the most stupid desperation tactics ever employed," junior undersecretary Hepatizon groaned as she pressed the small container she was holding tighter against her chest. It was a very unremarkable-looking container, simple and smooth and light, dim gray with a small hole for a key chip. Hepatizon knew she couldn't hear anything through the soundproof walls of the cube, but she could have sworn she heard soft metal rattle against the titanium restlessly, seizer conduits searching for something to hold on to for dear life.
Even though she knew the life-support was more than adequate for a journey this short. The life-support her second-ever friend wouldn't need if it wasn't for her. Hepatizon wasn't accustomed to dealing with guilt. Maybe that was why she had reacted so badly. And now she had gotten Molybdochalkos into the same mess, Molybdochalkos whom she full well knew incapable of denying her anything.
She dimmed her optics and groaned. Could she do nothing right anymore?
"We won't betray you, Spessartine. I'm just whining, pay me no attention." She wouldn't, but she was petrified. Inquirata would vivisect both her and Molybdochalkos if he got his hands on them now and that would be if he decided to go easy on them and not hand them over to the Judges. Her quintronium mesh tentacles, elegantly adorned with interlacing spirals and triangles painted with golden and red mineral paints, were lashing against the floor and she couldn't seem to control them at all.
"Hardly the stupidest ever, Hep. If we only can get to this human, Spike Witwicky, they'll have no other options but to protect Spessartine. And they will have to protect us since we are the only ones who can keep the human alive at that point," Molybdochalkos argued gently, concentrating most of his attention on navigating towards the Oort Cloud.
There was one big but, which Molybdochalkos had to know also; he might be dronecaste, but he wasn't stupid. They were gambling their lives and Spessartine on Inquirata not offering to collaborate with the Autobots to separate Spessartine from the human. They had fair odds for Hepatizon couldn't imagine the Autobots asking anything from the Magister Scientist and a Quintesson such as Inquirata probably would never think of anything so helpful and mutually profitable. It was still a risk, though, and they had to get to the human first for this to work. They couldn't have that long a head start and the Autobots would be on guard, against Decepticons more than anything, but that was small comfort.
But it was Spessartine whom she had practically lured to her death on Quintessa, and it was her and Molybdochalkos. She looked at the humanoid pilot, the worker, at his legs and small head and then her own tentacles. She had been built to high caste, been apprenticed by Inquirata himself and then allowed to branch out into politics which had been a great honour. Because she had been custom-bred and he mass-produced for manual labor, because of differences in build, they would have had no future on Quintessa. But even though he was of crude make, mercilessly functional and blocky, his laughter was beautiful and his nature very sweet and it just wasn't right! Maybe now…
"I will protect you both," Molybdochalkos promised with solemn voice. Hepatizon leaned back in her seat, pressing her bulbous head against the rich, purple pillows.
All Quintessons were atheists by default. Any higher powers were merely constructs of minds that couldn't bear the truth of the chaotic existence without crutches. There was no reason, no purpose or great plan and always before it had been what little freedom life had to offer, but now she understood the desperate need for someone to look after her, to look after the Universe, and they were going to be Autobots in quick enough order if everything went right. Autobots were religious.
"From your mouth to Primus' audio," she whispered the name of the God of slaves.
There was a bitter chill on the desert that evening. Desert nights tended to be chilly of course, but the air itself seemed on edge, lashing out with an icy bite. The sun hung low on the horizon, deep red dyeing the clouds and the small, vague silhouette of the city. Spike was very, very glad that his best friend in the world, any world you could name and then some, was warm inside because right when he stopped running he was going to be so cold.
There were many slightly bizarre things about being friends with beings who were so different from humans. He had gotten over the oddity of spending time in Bumblebee's body cavity the first. Or the second, the first had been that he was big, made of metal and could transform into a really sweet car, but that was kind of obvious. The third was that Bumblebee was older than his species, even though most of that time had been spent in stasis. That Bumblebee had in fact been a femme once had been by far the most shocking.
Traditionally all new sparks had come from Vector Sigma, as seen fit by the Prime and the Ministry of Population and Resources to the betterment of the Cybertronian society. (His eyes had crossed when Ratchet had explained that part at length.) There was an alternative way, which was diverting spark matter from an already existing spark little by little to an incubator unit so the mother spark has enough time to regenerate. This created a personal offspring for the femme, and by upgrading oneself with an incubator unit anybot could become a spark-creator; a femme. Yes, they could switch and his male best friend was in fact a mother to a femme named Moonracer he would probably never meet.
Carly loved that, though. And even with this all maybe the most surprising thing was how similar they were to humans, deep down. And deep down Bumblebee was like a teenager like him, except for the professional soldier and loving mother part.
How that was even possible he didn't know, but he knew it was true. He was the one Bumblebee was throwing water balloons at after all.
He didn't hear as sound, the shadow suddenly falling on him only thing that alerted him before there was a splash and water was running down his back, trickling and cold and exhilarating. Spike shrieked and turned around. The red light caught the edges of Bumblebee's armor and cast the rest of him into shadows. Rather than throw and risk missing with his last balloon Spike never stopped running and slapped the blue balloon against Bumblebee's tight.
"How come… you can be so silent?" he panted a question. He made sound when running over the sand and he was the small, light one.
"I am a scout," Bumblebee said proudly; small and lightly armed he might be, but Spike knew he took much pride in his abilities. "It comes with the package. It took some getting used to, though. There isn't sand on Cybertron."
Spike frowned. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember seeing anything but solid ground on Cybertron when he had been there to rescue his dad. Sure, at the moment the ground had been least of his worries as it hadn't been shaking with earthquakes like on Earth and Shockwave had been doing who knew what to Sparkplug. But all in all Cybertron had been like a giant Autobot – or rather Decepticon seeing how the power balance was there – base, if not very well maintained.
"There isn't erosion on Cybertron?" he asked. Spike loved hearing of Cybertron. Earth was so down to earth, pun very much intended, and Cybertron was something alien and exotic and terribly exiting. Bumblebee whizzed a negative and shook his head.
"There never was much in the way of weather on Cybertron. It doesn't rotate on its axis so the jet streams are very stable and there is very little water. Plus, the surface nanites reintegrate all small particles and no major damage went without fixing before the war." Nanites? Spike had a feeling that he had heard Ratchet speak of them once, or maybe it had been dad and Wheeljack, but that wasn't the part that had caught his interest.
"Cybertron is in synchronous rotation with its sun? There is a day half and a night half?" He hadn't spent that much time on the planet that first time. He and Carly had both been really busy the second time also, when they had gone to search for the Dinobots and Cybertronium, and again sightseeing had been their lowest priority. He didn't think they had spent four whole hours there.
"Yes, for us the hours, using the human word, are actually latitudes, though we have thirty of them. The sunside pole is midday, the nightside pole is midnight," Bumblebee recited happily. When they had first met he has been reluctant to speak of his home planet, but now he seemed to take pleasure in it. Spike thought maybe that meant that his friend was less homesick now. He certainly hoped so; he wanted Earth to be home for Bumblebee so much it hurt.
He couldn't bear the thought of his best friend returning to Cybertron one day and leaving him behind even though he knew he was just being selfish.
He wanted to say something to Bumblebee, though he had no idea what it was, he only knew he felt kind of melancholic all of a sudden. And before he could come up with anything there was a particularly chilly gust of wind and Spike was suddenly very aware that he was dripping wet. A shiver ran through his back and now the twilight was so dim he could see Bumblebee's optics glowing like blue stars.
"Can you transform now? I'm freezing my aft off here now," he pleaded. Bumblebee made the trilling-clicking sound that was Cybertronian equivalent to a nod and his armor plates pivoted and swiveled in happy yellow and calm gray streaks of colour, his insides seemed to fall down, turn inside out and compact at the same time, his plating moving again and turning and twisting. He never got tired to watching his friends transforming. It was a dance of sharp metal and colourful wires, like crazy flowers closing bud and blooming again.
Carly liked his poetic side and it hadn't even existed before that fateful day in the power plant. A part of him had screamed how they were all going to die, a smaller part had taken one look at the Decepticons, seekers like jewel-coloured birds of prey, and thought how it would have been so cool if they hadn't tried to kill everyone, but when all was over there had been a fledgling part of him that had watched Jazz transform and thought: that was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
That was the side of him that had gotten the girl.
"If you catch cold Ratchet is going to nail us both to the medberths. Hop in, save us the pain," Bumblebee said and Spike grinned, taking a step to do just so. Pain exploded in his back, racing up and down his spine and he saw how the ground got closer ever so slowly, like in a dream.
Spike hardly felt it when his body hit the ground, but he definitely could taste the sand in his mouth. He tried to spit it off, but his mouth was dry, dry like sand. He lay dully on ground, watching as yellow ankles pivoted and twisted, cold and nauseous. Bumblebee was transforming. His weapons were humming ominously, the wind seemed to have abated and the hum was filling his whole skull like a swarm of bees. Decepticons attack, he thought. The ankles jumped away, he could only see darkening desert floor and the ground shook. Bumblebee was shooting and someone was shooting back.
I don't want to die, he thought and felt his eyes prickling. He really, really didn't want to die. Spike forced his abused muscles to move and pushed himself to his hands and knees; he wasn't going to die, not this stupid a death after everything. The world was dimming dark around the edges of his sight, it swirled like Bumblebee's armor plates and he tasted bile in his mouth and his stomach heaved. Spike threw up on the sands, his eyes still wet. That was when he realised, when his heart was beating like it was trying to hammer its way out of his chest and hope had all but left him, that he could only hear two guns.
And just like that he knew they would both be alright. It was only one enemy. He gulped deep, slow breaths to get some measure of control over his body and scramble to cover. That was when big but gentle cords hands him from behind and lifted him off the ground like he was a baby, supporting his head carefully.
It was a gross mix of animalistic bootiliciousness and caricatured ugliness. It was probably female and almost definitely a femme, but that was all Spike could tell. There were some kind of muted green and purple metal-tentacles on her bloated head that almost looked like braids in the darkness falling and there was all around strange flesh-and-blood look to the features even when the cold, hard surface of the hands cupping him against the femme's chest confirmed her to be made of metal indeed. It didn't have legs at all, but tentacles extending from her tenpin-like lower body. The optics were ghost green and he had never seen green optics before.
"You aren't a Decepticon, are you?" he asked too surprised to be all that afraid, even. But the shooting was going on a little way from them and he couldn't see Bumblebee.
"Not even a little bit," the strange femme said and the green optics dimmed for a fraction of a second. Her voice was strangely hissing like there was something wrong with her vocalizer. Spike tried to twist his body to look where Bumblebee had gone and pain flashed up and down his back again like fire, bringing tears to his eyes.
"What you want with me? If you are looking for a hostage, that has been tried before and not successfully, just so you know," he hissed defiantly.
"I'm very sorry." That was only warning Spike got.
Something touched his head and strange shapes exploded in Spike's brain. There wasn't any pain anymore, only swirling utopia of hallucinogenic, flowing colours and noise that drowned all his thoughts. He was detached, distanced, floating on warm waves and only barely aware that something was wriggling in the midst of it, susurration permeating all colours and swaying. Bending him, swaying with ease like dancing, having its way with him. Staying within him, swaying him.
For a second his mind cleared and he could see Bumblebee's worried face, his blue eyes – optics, not eyes – shining much too brightly, all was too bright and clear, and hear everything again.
"Spike! Speak to me Spike, are you all right?" Bumblebee's voice was high pitched; strained. There was something lumpy at the back of his head that hurt.
Spike wanted to answer, really, but darkness came upon him and he fell into cool, painless unawareness.
On Cybertron day and night were not time units, but locations. Iacon, 15.00, once the proud, beautiful midday capital of Autobots, was now Shockwave's base of operations. The city was now a strange mishmash of broken brilliance and well-maintained but graceless functionalism; damaged spires that still broke the light of the sun into all hues of the spectre stood next to an angular titanium lattice communications tower. Open, high buildings with many windows and high ceilings, towers and terraces gaining as unrestricted a view of the sky as possible, had now fallen from grace. In many places they had given way to blocky, cost-effective, easily defended buildings, but it was obvious that the reconstruction had been halted halfway. The war wasn't going well for Decepticons anymore.
The door to the sectioned off room that led to Shockwave's main laboratory slid open, the sound echoing through the base. Fearswoop entered slowly, allowing the door to slide close behind him.
"You summoned me, Lord Shockwave?" he asked, sending the databurst I apologize for interrupting. Shockwave was very strict on protocol and ignoring even a small part of it would get the unlucky con immediately and ruthlessly reprimanded.
Fearswoop didn't exactly fear Shockwave, but he did respect the mech that knew how to take and own loyalty of those under him. He respected Calabi-Yau's creator, but he hated him also, though nowhere near as much as he hated Megatron.
"The intelligence department has discovered intel on one of the four unaccounted for Queens," a monotonic voice went straight to the business. A jolt went through Fearswoop and he sent a quick praise to Primus that the mech he served was not Soundwave. Had Shockwave known what he was considering he would have been executed without even court martial.
Most of Cybertron belonged to Decepticons now, only hours 28.30 – 02.15 were under Autobot control, fiercely protected by Elita 1's partisans. But while the Autobot femmes were the underdrones now it was a waiting game the Decepticons were loosing and Fearswoop was intelligent enough to recognize this. Decepticons had, at the peak of their reign, outnumbered Autobots ten to three, but things were changing now. They were dying casualty by casualty, had been dying for millions of years and there were no replacements to their ranks. Autobots had the femme units and above all Autobots had Vector Sigma.
There were more differences between Decepticons and Autobots than a mere sigil. Their technology and the bots' had parted ways over eleven million years ago when the Quintessons had designed them for different purposes. No true Decepticon could be befitted with an incubator. The few femmes Decepticons had were all defected or reprogrammed Autobots.
"If we got it and we could combine it with a suitable sentient organic we could raise the hives, my lord. We could take the midnight." Fearswoops optics faced the floor deferentially, but his mind was running lightvorn an astrosecond. The Queen could do so much more than just raise a disciplined army of the hives. The Queen could be used as focal point for Calabi-Yau.
Calabi-Yau of thousand faces, creation of Shockwave, sparkling of peacetime who had been destroyed at Lord Megatron's order, scattered all over the Universe. Strange, patient Calabi-Yau, a supporter and a construction among a race of warriors whom he had courted a long, long time ago. Rage flooded Fearswoop's mind even after the millennia that had passed by when he remembered that terrible orn. Calabi-Yau had been a true Decepticon at spark, but Megatron had no trusted her, oh no, not someone so powerful. He preferred the Spacebridge Network insentient, thank you not very much.
The first true femme created Decepticon in their history had also been the last. Yet again another sign of Lord Megatron's short-sightedness.
He needed a plan: Megatron would not sit idly and let him revive Calabi-Yau, Shockwave wouldn't let him. Calculations and scenarios played out in the strategy portion of his CPU, equations calculating the variables in numerous ways with the available options. He had to save Calabi-Yau now when he had a chance or he couldn't live with himself. Megatron was his enemy in this.
"Where the Queen is located, my lord?" he asked. Autobots were Megatron's enemies. Optimus Prime was Megatron's enemy.
"Until recently it was on Quintessa, in the hands of the Ruling Council, but three orns ago two fugitives captured it. According to my scouts they are headed towards Earth; a planet with sentient organic lifeform. Bring the Queen to me uncombined; humanity supports Autobots."
Iacon was midday city, but deep within Shockwave's den the world was cast in comforting shadows. Decepticons gad been programmed and sparked in the night, but now the understanding, sheltering darkness belonged to the Autobots and Fearswoop found the exchange lacking. The Day was order, inane, dull civil service and gilded towers, ignorant to the world philosophers in their high cities. The Night was silence, desire and passion, rest, violence and delightful, sweet action.
"I will select competent, trustworthy mechs for this mission," he promised, musing how well Shockwave fit the daylight. How had that sparkles drone created such a delightful creature as Calabi-Yau?
My enemy's enemy is my friend, for now.
I am Spessartine.
AN: Hepatizon, also known as Black Corinthian Bronze, was a highly valuable metal alloy in classical antiquity. Molybdochalkos is an alloy of copper and lead. Spessartine or spessartite is manganese aluminium garnet, Mn3Al2(SiO4)3. Calabi-Yau manifolds are compact Kähler manifolds whose canonical bundle is trivial. It's got to do with the superstring theory.
The length of deca-cycle has not been specified in G1 cartoon as far as I know, but in IDW it is roughly three weeks: I use that here. Orn is a unit of undetermined duration. It is apparently defined as "one Cybertronian lunar day". I take it that it is the time that Cybertron's moons need to rotate around the planet.