Chapter 13

"Pretend"

The potted sapling in Sunburst's hallway bothered her. As in - it bothered her on a deeply spiritual level. Hawkmoon hadn't even realized she was a spiritual person, but there it was - soulful discomfort. It was like... walking into a Hive nest with one's Light bared and bright, Dark rolling past in rough waves that felt like sandpaper mixed with thousands of prickly insect-like legs. In short: really, really uncomfortable.

So, in response, Hawkmoon made an show of kneeling down by the petrified plant one orn and just... stared at it, trying to figure out why. With optics and the other sensor-thing she couldn't put a name to, the extraneous sensory function that lit up when she walked too close to other mecha. It was less of a cold shock where people were concerned, more of a disconcerting presence hanging perpetually close - like some remnant of death whispering against her neck, slick as a knife-edge.

The worst part was that she knew what it was. Well, maybe not, but Hawkmoon knew the feeling it gave her. She still had nightmares about it; stepping into the Garden, feeling the same thing the sapling forced on her but a hundred times stronger, a thousand! Everything there sang - not in words or even noise, but with pattern and meaning and presence, calling to her, calling to the secret squirreled away in her frame, in her shell of synthsteel and exoneurons and stinging Alkahest.

The sapling, silvered and lifeless, sang in the same way. Not as loudly, for sure, and not with the same cutting intent or even the right poisoned words, but it sang. It was the difference between a mighty cleaver drenched in blood and battle and a knife left to gather dust and rust in the kitchen corner.

The knife still scared her.

Finally! The orn came that she was to begin her path to getting the hell off Cybertron. Contrail came by, faceplates fixed in a neutral, if a tad sympathetic, expression. Sunburst said little; though they had spent much of the previous decaorn in close proximity, and had a lot to talk about (mostly on Seeker etiquette and the like), the older femme was still too reserved for Hawkmoon to forge any real connection with. Their farewell was a brief, cool thing in which they both made their muttered goodbyes by the door - and then it shut.

Contrail hummed. "You'll be among others with the same aspirations as yourself in the Institute," he promised. "Come along; we have quarters to claim and registration to work through."

"I thought..." Hawkmoon started to say, but they were in the midst of transforming into their alt modes so her voice cut off. She picked up a low-frequency comms channel with Contrail. ::I thought that was-::

::Dealt with? Mostly. Proof of presence is the majority of what the Institute needs from you right now.:: Contrail veered to the side. Hawkmoon swiveled to follow. ::If you're worried about questions, don't be. I've supplied most of the answers already. There will be some curiosity, but not overly much. We aren't grounders; our personal lives are kept separate from our duties. If you want privacy, it will be respected.::

::And if that's not the case?:: Hawkmoon asked worriedly. ::If someone doesn't take a hint?::

::Contact me. Staff or student - all are beholden to the same rules. Unless, of course, you allow them to investigate.:: Contrail went silent for a brief moment, then said, ::You may make friends. You may find yourself with rivals. Do with either as you see fit, as long as no one is hurt and the reputation of the Institution is upheld. Am I clear?::

::Crystal.::

The Vosian Exploratory Institution was staggeringly massive. The facility was a prism-like building, jutting up with a jagged cone-like fang, needling into the space between the stars. It shone with a miasma of colours through a thick canopy of smoky clouds, bright despite the attempts of the elements to hide it away. It was too beautiful for Cybertron; too ambitious for mortal hands to make, and yet they did - with servo and optic and a hundred vorns of effort.

::This was a palace erected by a Quintesson leader.:: Contrail quietly told her. ::From far back when they enslaved our kind to enact on whatever fanciful whims took them. See that courtyard out front?::

Hawkmoon did, stretched out around the entrance to the once-palace. It looked more like a reinforced compound than anything else. ::Sure.::

::That was where the first Seeker armada marched out the tyrants, lined them up, and scrapped them with plasma fire and voltage cutters.::

::... Oh. That's...:: Hawkmoon hesitated. :Grisly.::

Something in the sensor-she-didn't-understand flickered with shrugging disinterest - and it wasn't hers. ::It's Quintesson-era history.:: Contrail said flippantly, as if to convey sure it is, but what can you do?

The place saw some activity, anyways, given how other Seekers were steadily flying in - besides all the automated drones wheeling in and out crates of varying sizes. Evidently the place saw a steady influx of new equipment. That or they were importing some kind of unrenewable resource. Energon, perhaps? Hawkmoon settled on energon; if people couldn't eat - no, wait, no, just ingest or intake - then they sure as hell weren't going to work.

She followed Contrail to a clear area and landed on the grey pavement, transforming just before they touched down. The floor felt... warm. More than just sunbaked. Hawkmoon brought it up.

"This was a geothermal power station too," Contrail explained. "We still use it for that very purpose, to support the researcher's more power-demanding facilities - like the Observatory and the Vosian Spacebridge."

Spacebridge. One of the things the Aperture Scrambler (or whatever she had been accused of stealing) was meant to counter. She looked it up and discovered it was a type of long-range portal technology, apparently. Strong enough to reach across the entire local star system - and beyond, if there was another spacebridge to correspond with the original at the desired coordinates.

Now that was tech humanity needed.

Contrail led the way inside, marching in like he owned the place. Drones made way and a couple of Seekers, some older and some not, greeted him in cordial fashion. A few of them even said hi to her. Hawkmoon responded as best she could, but largely was taken aback by how bustling it was inside. Like the City Bazaar, really, just with alien robots instead of normal people. And without stalls and ramen shops, but that was to be expected. Aliens didn't have ramen, poor souls.

Hawkmoon wondered if she could still eat ramen with a Cybertronian body. Hopefully. What was life without spicy ramen?

At last they reached reception where a short-winged Seeker sat with a computer terminal in front of him and a datapad in hand. He turned at their arrival and offered Contrail a smile. "Welcome back, sir." His optics found Hawkmoon. "Who, may I ask, is-"

"This is Hawkmoon." Contrail gestured her forth. "She's enrolling for this term as an initiate for the Elites."

"The... Seekerette from Vello, yes?"

"Indeed."

"Right..." The other Seeker tapped at his datapad, then offered it to her. "If we could get your ident-codes and CNA signature, please, that would be fantastic."

Hawkmoon looked at the screen. The files in her central processor translated the alien glyphs and presented her with... a form. Just a form. She entered the necessary information and handed it back. "All done."

"Thank you." The other Seeker typed in a few other things, then looked up. His smile widened. "Welcome to the Vosian Exploratory Institute. I'm hoping you'll do us proud," he glanced at the other Seeker, "but if Contrail is supporting you, then it's a certainty."

Hawkmoon warily smiled back, unsure. The compliment unsteadied her. "Thanks."

Contrail said nothing and walked on past the receptionist's desk and down another hallway. Assuming it was for their next stop, Hawkmoon followed, hurrying to catch up. The corridor was thankfully large enough for five Seekers to walk down side-by-side, even with their wings to account for. "He seems nice."

Contrail hummed. "He is, to a degree."

"To a... degree?" Hawkmoon's smile faded away. She resisted the urge to glance back behind her. "What does that mean?"

"Do you understand what it means to be an Energon Seeker?"

"I get to fly beyond Cybertron."

"A narrow-minded way to look at it," Contrail said quickly, voice low. "You will become the pride of Cybertron."

"So... there's expectations?"

"And power with it. Those who endear themselves to you stand to reap the benefits of their patronage."

Hawkmoon frowned. "If it's such a sought-after position, how come it was so easy to get here?"

"Because I pushed those hurdles out of your way," Contrail sternly told her, stopping and turning to face her. "There was a cost - and in more than just shanix. I expect you to work to the very best of your ability and beyond. Do you understand?"

Hawkmoon tilted her helm. "Do you have something to gain from being a patron too?"

Contrail vented a snort. "I suppose I do; an ally and loyalist. You are right to call me your patron too - if you fall short, I fall short. If you rise, I rise. My reputation rides on whether you can clear the trials ahead of you. If you can't, then it will seem to my peers as if I'm playing favouritism, ignoring the system we have in place to promote someone unfit for the title of Elite. I hope you realize your position is a much-vaunted one."

"Thanks?"

"Just do well by me and I will consider it ample repayment."

Hawkmoon dipped her helm. "Sure. Uh... so I'm in?"

"You're... yes, you're 'in'." Contrail said slowly.

"Thank you. So much."

The other Seeker turned on his heel and started walking again. "I will show you to your dorm. You'll have personal quarters, but it is linked to an apartment you will share with others. These are your peers, fellow students and potential rivals."

Hawkmoon felt something flutter in her core. Nervousness, perhaps. "Rivals again? What's the deal with that?"

"Potential. Not all who apply can make it. Some will try to take out their frustrations on you, whether they do well in their own trials or not. This is always the case. Nonetheless, you will need to acclimate yourself to the necessity of working with others in advance of forming a rudimentary trine for the end-of-quartex exams."

"End-of-..." Hawkmoon mulled it over. It was going to take a while. "Okay."

Satisfied, Contrail picked up the pace. The silence allowed her to think; a trine! Groups of three Seekers working in tandem - not unlike a typical Risen Fireteam. That was... bearable. Maybe. So far. At least she could settle for the idea of working with others on a temporary basis, but it wouldn't be Fireteam Sagittarius. It wouldn't be Ikharos or Jaxson.

And there wouldn't be any Ghosts or resurrections either. Mortals were so... vulnerable. How could they live like that?

Like... this? Hawkmoon lifted a servo, staring at the still unfamiliar talons and palm. It wasn't her, but it was. Just like her old body, her Exomind form, had been. Was this her lot in life? Going as far as she humanly could, then jumping ship into the next vessel? It didn't feel right. No, it felt wrong.

But there was nothing to be done. There was nothing that could be done.

Oh Gecko...

They arrived at a locked sliding door leading to who knew where - except Contrail knew and said, "This is you."

It was the apartment, then.

"Now, before I leave you..." Contrail sent her a few datapackets of information. "You will find in there the key-codes to your dormitory and your personal quarters both, as well as permissions for the energon dispenser. The rules are there too, but listen: here's the ones you need to watch. The first, and most important, is no weapons - blades, blasters, matter-eaters, acid-sprayers, flamethrowers, plasma grenades, anything like that."

"Uh..."

"Unless, of course, permitted by your primary instructor. And as your primary instructor: no. Not off the grounds or beyond the allotted times. Weapons are for the ranges and in the field, nothing else."

"I don't-"

"Second: you can bring in visitors, but only up to two, and unless its within the visitor centre you will have to log in their names and the times for both their arrivals and departures at reception."

Hawkmoon shrugged; she really didn't know many mecha, so what did it matter?

"Third: you have full access to the washracks within, but don't leave the water on. Also - don't abuse your energon rights."

"I won't, for either," Hawkmoon confirmed. "But the weapons-"

"Ranges only, I said. Fourth: no flying in-doors, unless it's in the flight-centres. I've had it up to here with young Seekers thinking they can jet down the hallways..." Contrail looked to the side, faceplates tightening with irritation. "The only place that lands them is in the infirmary and then back home."

"I, uh, won't."

"Good. Online early next orn; you don't want to be late for your introductory."

"Right, got it."

Contrail placed a servo on her pauldron. Her unnamed-sensor acted up. Hawkmoon had to suppress the urge to flinch. "If you have any problems, come to me. I am here to help, keep in mind. Particularly..." He tapped the side of his helm. With my processor, Hawkmoon realized.

"I understand," she said with a nod. "Thank you."

Contrail nodded back and marched on, leaving her on her own. Hawkmoon took an imaginary breath (couldn't actually, no lungs) and pressed her servo against the terminal beside the door, injecting the key-codes. It dinged and slid open. She walked in.

The immediate chamber within was rather spacious, like a cross between an office and a living room. Furniture of the metallic kind was laid about here and there, some like couches and others as singular chairs. A monitor was set up on one of the walls, mutedly playing what looked like a news channel. Nothing about Nightbeat, Hawkmoon saw with some relief. Just the mundane ongoings of a living city. Another set of six doors was set into both the right and left side of the room, three on each. A seventh stood at the other end of the apartment, and from it emanated the sound of running water. Someone must have left the showers on. Was that enough to warrant seeking Contrail out? Hawkmoon didn't want to get blamed because the previous occupants had screwed up.

She made her way towards it, but stopped as she passed the counter set into the wall that made up the small kitchen-corner. Nothing quite like what she would have expected on Earth, what with the lack of a cooker and fridge, but there were places for storing cups and flasks and even an open press full of energon cubes, some glowing with fuel and others empty. Hawkmoon peered inwards, trying to look for something, anything of variation, anything other than normal blue energon, but no - nothing.

The noise of running water suddenly cut off. A sound from the direction had her straightening up and snapping her helm around, optics pinning on the other Cybertronian entering the main room. The other Seeker looked momentarily surprised, then caught herself. "Oh. Hi. Sorry, I'm... hi."

"Hello," Hawkmoon said cautiously.

"I... sorry." The other Seeker, a femme, smiled sheepishly. "I mean... Hi. I'm Cyberwarp."

"Hawkmoon."

"Ah, right. I heard someone else was coming. Had to be, since there was a room empty and the shareholders hate wasted space." Cyberwarp dried off her servos and then her helm-crest. She tossed the damp cloth over her shoulder and approached. "Sorry for... Anyways. Yeah, I'm... Cyberwarp. You're Hawkmoon." She nodded, mostly to herself. "Am... I rambling?"

"You are," Hawkmoon deadpanned, but a soft smile found its way onto her faceplates. "It's no issue, though. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." Cyberwarp beamed with some relief, though her optics were coloured with faint embarrassment. "Oh, uh, your room's the far one on the left. My far left, your close right."

"Good to know, thanks." Hawkmoon paused. "Hey, is it alright if I drag out a cube for myself?"

"Hm? Oh, sure. They're there for all of us, so yeah."

"Are there... many others here?" Hawkmoon asked, trying to frame it as innocently as she could. She wanted to know if there was going to be a crowd. Crowds, inside? Worst thing ever. Besides giant alien worms, but that was a whole other kettle of fish.

"About..." Cyberwarp turned about, looking at all the doors in turn - except for the exit and the one leading to the showers. "Besides us, four. We're finally filled up, then. I'd introduce you, but, uh, everyone's out. Last day before we start, you know?" Her optics brightened. "Hey, do you have plans?"

Hawkmoon furrowed her optical ridges. "Not really. Why?"

"It's alright if you do, I know this is sudden and all, but I just wanted to extend the invitation since you've come all the way from Vello..."

Hawkmoon thought it over. "I'm free for all orn, so... what's the offer?"

"I was going to go with Slipsteam and Nacelle - my friends, they live here now too - out for a flight-'n'-fuel, but if you want to come along I'm sure the others won't mind." Cyberwarp's smile and optics were just so... hopeful.

Hawkmoon tried to make a show of considering, but given the lack of alternatives and - oh Traveler, that face - all she could say in the end was, "Sure. That would be nice."

"Great! Nacelle and Slipstream should be here soon enough. I think they went off to scout out the Observatory, but they said they would be back before evening."

Hawkmoon nodded along, grabbed an energon cube and ambled over to a chair by the dining(?) table. "I don't mind waiting. There's not much else to be doing." She sipped, then inquired, "Is that..." she dipped her head in the direction of the showers, "free? I feel like I've picked up all sorts of dust coming here."

"The washracks? Of course. There's enough spouts for everyone."

"Every-" Hawkmoon muffled her inquiry. Everyone? she wanted to ask. Oh, the horror. At once? "A-alright, thank you."

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

Cyberwarp took the seat opposite. "Yeah, so if we're in a hurry to get to class everyone has their room to wash off the previous orn's grime and get moving, I suppose. Everything here is well-operated. I mean... it's like a factory, almost. You come in an initiate, you leave an Elite. Unless you get thrown out as a failed product, but that's not us, right?"

Hawkmoon grinned, just to humour the other femme, but inside...

Please Traveler no...

AN: Big thanks to Nomad Blue for editing!