Chapter 21

"Clan"

They took a service tunnel clear of pedestrians and squatters to wherever Blackarachnia was leading them - her, her wolf, and her guards. Whatever was ahead of them, it was loud; Hawkmoon could make out snarls, battle-cries and cheering - as well as the cacophonous clash of metal on metal. When, at last, they emerged out into an open atrium with an energy-shielded pit in the centre... yeah, Hawkmoon wasn't entirely surprised to see that the place was host to an arena fight. A brutal one at that, too.

In the central pit, a yellow-and-brown mech of bulky, oversized proportions was bashing another, more conventionally-shaped mech over the head with servo-turned-sledgehammers.

Blackarachnia marched to the edge, her guards clearing the way of yelling, frenzied spectators with the mere presence of their humming glaives. She turned back to them and indicated with an outstretched hand towards the energon-slick centre. "There you are!" she called, just to be heard over the cries of the crowd. "Your guide!"

Swiftsear cautiously went with her, looked over the edge, then swivelled to face her and spat, "A flesh-lover?! No deal!"

Hawkmoon followed him there, peered down into the pit and frowned. There was something... odd about the great mech's plating. No hard corners, no flickering lights, no exposed cabling; it was as if his frame was fashioned to at least emulate an organic form. There wasn't any kibble on him either - no definitive way to tell what kind of alt-mode he had. No wheels, no wings, no rotors, nothing. In truth, he reminded her of... of Skold, the old tortoise-femme she'd met in Cybertron's wilderness so many decaorns ago. Almost a quartex, even.

Damn. She'd been on Cybertron a while, hadn't she? Hawkmoon wondered, with a spike of concern, how Ikharos and Jaxson were doing without her. Worried sick, probably.

Hammer-mech pounded his opponent one last time, sending the smaller mech to the ground either dead or in stasis-lock, and lifted his viscera-covered bludgeoning tools up for the crowd to see while roaring victoriously. His optics were blue, and his helm boasted two curling ox-horns, one on either side, just behind his audials. The energy barrier covering the pit disappeared, and spectators threw in shards of chipped crystals like rose petals.

"You won't find anyone else who knows a path to the Cyst Stars!" Blackarachnia leered, grinning widely. "And there's nowhere else with unclaimed energon reservoirs anywhere in the sector! First, though, you'll have to hire him!"

Swiftsear twirled around. "We already paid-"

"No, not you," Blackarachnia tutted. Her optics swiveled Hawkmoon's away. "How about you, little gunner?"

"What-"

One of the spider-femme's legs shot her way, jabbing her just above her spark, and sent her tipping over the edge. Hawkmoon twisted around, angling her thrusters and activating them to land on her pedes on the scratched, bloodied floor below - and glanced up as the shimmering energy barrier above as it snapped back into place. Swiftsear was aiming a powered-up riot cannon at Blackarachnia, shouting at her, but she - she was just watching Hawkmoon, smiling tightly, with dark satisfaction.

"A NEW CHALLENGER!" A voice boomed, spread across the massive atrium via a number of decent-quality speakers. "CYBERTRONIAN SEEKER, NO LESS! PLACE YOUR BETS NOW!"

The hammer-mech turned about to look at her and snorted - puffing air out of his vents so heatedly it came out as steam. "What's a bird doing here?" he sneered.

Hawkmoon straightened up and brushed her pauldrons off. "I'm not here to fight," she explained, indicating up to Swiftsear. "We're here to hire you for your services. We need a way-"

"No talk, only fight!" Hammer-mech slammed his mauls together and charged right at her - fast. Hawkmoon boosted up, hissing as the barrier sent a shock down from the tip of where her wing brushed it, and landed behind the brute.

"I'm not fighting you," Hawkmoon asserted. "We're here to hire you. Cybertron is willing to pay, big time."

Hammer-mech slowed to a stop, swept around with narrowed optics and huffed. "I don't care!" he bellowed, charging for her all over again. "Only fight!"

"I'm not going to-" Hawkmoon tried to fly around him, but the mech abruptly turned and snatched her pede out of the air, slamming her down on the floor - with the back of her helm hitting the ground in the process - and straddling her while she was dazed. He brought his hammer down, and Hawkmoon had only enough clarity of mind to crane her neck out of the way the moment she saw it coming, and it still clipped her cheek. Her helm rocked back, processor rattled, and her optical sensors swam.

Hammer-mech brought his arm back to do it again, then yelped when her own claws struck out for his faceplates. He leaned back - and it gave her enough room to activate her thrusters and shoot out of his grip. Hawkmoon forced some room between them, staggered back and found her balance, and she shot him a scathing look.

"Fine then," she grunted, energon dripping down from a crumpled rent on her faceplates. "Let's dance."

Hammer-mech straightened up and boomed with laughter. "That's more like it!"

"What's our rules?"

"No rules!" he spat, still grinning.

Hawkmoon raised an optical ridge. "What about killing?"

"That goes too."

"I'm not killing you."

"But I am going to kill you!" Hammer-mech darkly promised.

Hawkmoon smirked. "No you aren't," she goaded.

His smile slowly disappeared and his optical ridges pinched together. With a roar, Hammer-mech charged forward. Hawkmoon braced, bent her knees, and waited for him to close in, close in, close in... and shot up at an angle, propelled by her thrusters, to crack her knee-joint under the mech's chin. His head snapped back, and he stumbled away to give himself a second to recover from the dazing blow, but Hawkmoon didn't give him even a moment of respite - darting in and driving an elbow into his face twice, three times, and finishing it off with a flourishing right hook.

Hawkmoon snarled, keeping the assault up, and boosted every blow with a brief jet of her thrusters - fracturing her knuckles, denting her knee-guards, and pulverizing the mech into next-to-genuine scrap metal. He tried to swing back, knock her away, but she - she was in the fragging zone, channeling all her inner Hunter and dancing around him, DANCING, hitting and hitting and never once giving up. She drove her claws into his chest, earning a pained grunt, and hooked them into the outer-plating while lifting the both of them up by thruster alone and then slamming him down like he had done to her. Hawkmoon pulled her talons free, stepped back, and the Hammer-mech didn't get back up - just looked at her with his single functioning optic (the other was blinking on and off in a worrying way) and groaned.

Hawkmoon planted a pede on his chassis, leaned down and asked, "Are we done?"

Hammer-mech weakly spat energon and some splintered denta-fragments. "Yeah... yeah, bird... we're... we're done..."

"You going to-"

"Yeah, I'll... I'll deal and... frag..." Hammer-mech let his helm loll back and chuckled tiredly. "That was... aw... I like... I like you."

Hawkmoon scoffed and retreated back, out of arm's reach - looking up in the process. Swiftsear's cannon was down at his side and he was looking at her, offering a tight nod when she met his gaze. Her attention shifted to Blackarachnia - and the displeased, bewildered look on the spider-femme's faceplates was priceless.

Just for good measure, Hawkmoon half-bowed and offered the local queenpin a mocking salute.

Cyberwarp dabbed at her cheek with a data-weave rag one of the Dartwings had handed her and gave her a stern, exasperated look. "You got into a fight?"

"The other guy asked for it," Hawkmoon grumbled.

Nacelle nodded. "He did."

"Well, where is this other guy?" Cyberwarp paused in her ministrations, optics widening. "Hawkmoon, what did you do?"

"What? What?! I didn't kill him! Nacelle, tell her!"

Nacelle hesitated.

"'Moon!" Cyberwarp gasped.

"I didn't! Nacelle!"

"He's not dead," Nacelle managed. "Just... very beat up. Slagged, in a word."

Northwind snorted. "Swiftsear has to pay for his repairs, 'Moon. You wrecked that mech."

Hawkmoon shrugged, fighting off a grin. "You gotta do what you gotta do," she sagely intoned.

Quell bobbed his head. "She's right."

"Cheers to..." Northwind looked around his perch in one of the Aurorus's few seats. "I need a cube to... Okay, let's pretend I'm holding a cube. Cheers to that!"

Swiftsear returned before long with the pit-fighter in tow. The mech limped towards the Aurorus as indicated, then stopped when Hawkmoon emerged and eyed her cautiously.

"Bird," he greeted.

She crossed her arms. "Aft," Hawkmoon returned. "You still going to be trouble?"

The mech grinned, bearing his cracked denta. "You've persuaded me to help," he said. "Free of charge."

"Free?"

Swiftsear walked past him. "Longhorn has agreed to guide us to the Cyst Stars."

"The what?" Skydive asked, leaning against the shuttle's hull.

Swiftsear stopped in place, clasped his servos behind him and vented a troubled sigh. "The Cyst Stars. A rumoured no-go zone for the old Cybertronian Empire. Farthest known sub-sector of the Hierva region."

"Is there a reason it's a no-go zone?"

"Phantom signals, technical difficulties communicating with the homeworld, a native alien stellar collective - which has..." Swiftsear hesitated. "Fallen quiet. Organic, so - probably just set some biological kill-virus loose on themselves. There's another station along that way-"

"Two," Longhorn interrupted, looking between them carefully. "There are two. The Krensha Holdfast and Nestpod XXVII."

"Ye-es," Swiftsear gave the mech a lingering look. "A beastformer-clan stronghold and an Insecticon cold-colony, both bordering the Brachian Divide. We're looping around the Nestpod and passing through the stronghold for a refuel, then launching through the Divide to the Cyst Stars from there."

"How do we know this clan won't turn out like Blackarachnia?" Nacelle asked. "She turned on us pretty quick."

"Off-worlders can't be trusted," Quell murmured. Longhorn frowned. Hawkmoon did too.

"Longhorn's a member of this clan," Swiftsear explained, then reluctantly added, "and beastformers, like Seeker Elites, don't break their word."

"We don't," Longhorn nodded. He glanced at Hawkmoon. "You'd fit right in."

Hawkmoon made a face. "There's more to life than knocking each other's helms around, you know."

"Is there?"

"Yes."

"Huh."

"What's your price?" Nacelle pressed suspiciously. "What're you helping us for?"

Longhorn gave him a blank look. "You're giving me a ride home, aren't you?"

"Well... yes, but-"

"Leave it there," Swiftsear tiredly interjected. "We're flying out in a breem, got it? I don't trust that Blackarachnia won't try something else; we humiliated her, and demi-Insecticons like her don't let things like that go unpunished."

::Where'd you learn to fight like that?::

"Aw, frag." Hawkmoon vented a sigh, reluctantly pulling back out of a recharge cycle she'd only just entered. Her jet form's docking hooks were engaged with the clamps at the side of the Aurorus, allowing her to mentally drift off in safety, but Longhorn... ::Stop. I'm trying to get some rest.::

::I'm just curious. Metal-markers like you don't normally fight like that. Not birds, at least. Tarnese? Maybe. Definitely not birds.::

::You haven't met many well-trained Seekers, then.::

::Pretty much just you, bird. Only one I've personally fought, anyways.::

::I have a designation, you know.::

::Hawkmoon, yes?::

::For all that's good in the universe, please shut up. We'll talk next orn, if at all.::

Longhorn grunted. ::I'll hold you to it.::

Hawkmoon vented a second time, relaxed against the Aurorus's hull and began the painstaking task of relaxing her many, borderline overworked internal systems. Too much stress - too much tactical thinking. Where was her Warlock when she needed him?

Cyberwarp shifted beside her, coming back online. ::Everything alright?::

::Everything's fine,:: Hawkmoon gently, affectionately, told her. ::Get some rest.::

The Krensha Holdfast was twice as far as Freeport Azal was to Cybertron. They made good time anyways, but were forced to make pit-stops by a couple of asteroid fields to top up their energon stores - breaking out the miner to crack open rock. The Dartwings managed the whole thing, flitting to and fro around the drifting rocks while the miner bruised its way into the stray crystalized fuel deposits within. It was fascinating to watch - and even more fascinating when one of the Dartwings, Ampitude maybe, showed her how the crystal was ground down into dust and refined into liquid energon. The excess rock and extraneous elements were sifted out and left to waste in the dead of space behind them, coughed out by one of the miner's many vents.

The dark Holdfast, though, when it loomed out of nothingness the moment they exited warpspeed, was only a fraction of the Freeport's size and a whole lot more intimidating. It was vaguely spherical, and dotted with great glittering blade-like protrusions at irregular intervals. The stronghold was crowned with five foreboding spires, not entirely unlike the towers of Vos, and it regarded them with baleful silence - even across all local radio channels.

::Longhorn,:: Swiftsear addressed. ::How do we request entry?::

::You don't,:: Longhorn grunted. ::Give me a moment.::

Hawkmoon waited, heard the Dartwings ping her with wordless concern from within the Aurorus, and then heard - blasting out from the midsection of the ship - a cacophonous signal not unlike a digitized roar, or maybe the mournful call of an ancient war-horn converted into deafening radio chatter.

::That'll do it,:: Longhorn cheerfully explained.

Ahead of them, one of the lower hangar compartments of the stronghold shuddered open - an invitation if Hawkmoon had ever seen one.

Swiftsear huffed across the Seeker-only comms channel. ::Let's see what these flesh-lovers have to offer,:: he stiffly said. ::It'll be a long flight to the Cyst Stars, and the Divide's sparse on natural energon lodes. Hawkmoon-::

::I won't get into any more fights,:: she blurted. ::Promise.::

Nacelle scoffed and Northwind just laughed. Cyberwarp sighed.

::No. Just... be there, in broad view. The beastformer likes you - we might be able to use that.::

::Yeah, alright...:: Hawkmoon grumbled.

They glided ahead at a cautious but self-assured pace, confident the stronghold wouldn't fire on them with one of their own aboard, and slowly made their way inside the hangar. The place was... not well-kept, what with all the dust, scrap-metal and deep gouges in the floor and along the walls, but at least they had a welcoming party this time around. Three mecha had arrayed themselves mid-way into the hangar, two of them bordering on Longhorn's already impressive size and the third somehow even larger.

Hawkmoon landed, transformed, and waited for both Swiftsear and the Aurorus arrive. The moment it did, the airlock hissed open and Longhorn threw himself out, hitting the floor with a crash and rising back to his pedes. He smiled sheepishly and marched forward with a swagger. "Noc! Strada! Thunder-"

The largest of the mecha growled warningly; he was a massive purple-plated mech with two very un-Seeker like wings behind him, and two heavy horns sprouting on either side of his helm. He looked, in a word, like a robotic demon. His companions were no less flamboyant; one of them, the sole femme, was a pale, almost ivory shade and with a long flowing crest of synthetic fur running down the back of her helm and trailing along her eir spinal strut, and the other wore a red scale-skin cape of some alien beast, clutching loosely the pommel of an downturned sword. The swordbearer was largely black-and-blue, and more normal-seeming at a glance, but a lingering looked confirmed that - yes, another strange beastformer, with vestigial claws running over the back of their knuckles and the face of their alt-mode, a snarling wolfish creature, affixed to the front of their chassis.

"Who are they?" the demon-mech demanded, yellowed optics roaming over the gathered Seekers. "They..." he sniffed, true-to-form olfactory sensors inlaid between his optics and intake orifice flaring to draw in stale air. "They stink of the old world."

The maned-femme grunted. "Fliers, no less."

Demon-mech frowned and glanced at her. "Something wrong with fliers?"

"Just about everyth-"

The wolf-mech raised his servo. The other two fell silent. Even Longhorn halted in place and bowed his head. "Seekers of Vos," wolf-mech intoned. "Why are you here?"

A moment passed. With a vent, Swiftsear strode forward a few purposeful paces. "Cybertron urgently needs energon," he brusquely told them. "We're headed to the Cyst Stars to scout out potential mining-worlds. We came this way-"

"To avoid the Insecticon Nestpod," Longhorn muttered.

Swiftsear spared him a dark look. "Ye-es. And to trade for fuel, if you have any to spare."

The wolf-mech raised an optical ridge. "You'll need it," he gruffly noted, "if you seek to pass over the Brachian Divide."

"Just so," Swiftsear nodded. "We have shanix to spare-"

"Don't mock us!" Demon-mech snarled.

Wolf raised a hand for silence again. "Your credit carries no weight beyond your own world, Seeker," he announced, "but we'll give you the supplies you need. The homeworld ails; let none say Clan Krensha did nothing to help." He glanced around. "Any objections?"

None were offered.

"Then we will lend you what assistance we can," wolf-mech vowed to Swiftsear, nodding once. "I am Thunderhowl. These two are Noctorro and Strada. You know Longhorn already; I thank you for ferrying him back to us. Will you tell us your designations?"

"I'm Swiftsear, third-contingent formation-leader. These two with me are trine-leaders Hawkmoon and Northwind. Deciforge leads the crew of the Aurorus. We won't take advantage of your hospitality for long, I promise."

Thunderhowl inclined his head. "I will send for the energon you need. Is there anything else we can help you with?"

Swiftsear hesitated. "If you have an inter-planetary transceiver," he cautiously began, "would it be feasible for me to contact Cybertron?"

"Of course." Thunderhowl lifted his sword, sheathed it by his hip-join and gestured for Swiftsear to join. "Follow me."

Swiftsear indicated for Vale to come with him and the rest to stay. Hawkmoon allowed her combat protocols to sink back and relaxed her struts - a warmer welcome than Azal for certain. She turned to Cyberwarp - but the other femme nodded forward. Hawkmoon glanced around; Longhorn was walking back to them, Strada reluctantly in tow.

"Warrior," Longhorn greeted. "Come on. I want to show you something."

"I'm cool, thanks," Hawkmoon drawled.

Strada frowned.

"You'll like it," Longhorn promised, wagging his optical ridges. "I think."

"What is it?" Cyberwarp cut in. "Another arena?"

"No, those are on the lower levels. I want to show you something else, something close. You'll understand it."

"You're doing a good job about not telling us a damn thing," Hawkmoon grumbled.

"Our shrine to the Thirteen," Strada murmured. "That's what... Longhorn, it's not for-"

Longhorn rolled his optics. "Not for outsiders, yada yada, who ever said it wasn't?"

"Nocto-"

"Noctorro's old and grumpy. Thunderhowl never said outsiders were barred, so..."

"You're going to get in trouble," Strada deadpanned.

Longhorn grinned. "I don't care. She beat me. She's earned a piece of this place."

"That's not how-"

"A shrine to the Thirteen doesn't sound so bad," Cyberwarp whispered. Hawkmoon gave her a look.

"You're really playing along with this?" Hawkmoon asked, not a little surprised.

Cyberwarp raised a single optical ridge. "I play along with everything you propose, don't I? This isn't so different."

"But I'm..."

"You're...?

"Responsible," Hawkmoon lamely finished.

Cyberwarp snorted. "That's not the word I'd use," she muttered.

"Ouch."

"C'mon - we're out here - Swiftsear could be a while, and refueling definitely will take a while - so let's just have a look. I swear, I haven't been to a temple to the Primes in ages."

Hawkmoon hummed. "Never took you for a devout."

Cyberwarp shook its head. "It's not about that, it's..."

"Fine," Hawkmoon vented, then again, louder, for Longhorn's benefit - who was in the midst of bickering with Strada some more. "Fine! We'll tag along."

"Great!" Longhorn's faceplates split open with a victorious grin. His denta were still damaged; his self-repair must have been having trouble dealing with all the damage she'd dealt him. Hawkmoon wasn't in the least bit sorry.

Like Freeport Azal, and admittedly the Vosian Exploratory Institute, the majority of the Krensha Holdfast was given over to a myriad maze of corridors, cabins, and some sprinklings of open canteens, training areas and atriums for public gatherings - not that Hawkmoon got to see much of the latter as they were marched through the stronghold's dark interior. Plenty of people about - big beastformers, all, and they gave her and Cyberwarp odd looks as they passed.

The shrine, thought, now that was something. A massive chamber only barely lit, with thirteen massive black-marble statues lined along the wall in an imperfect circle. The largest, and built opposite the doorway so it was to be the first one visible, was the figure bearing the spiked head of Onyx Prime - only it was the first time Hawkmoon had seen him displayed with a body. He looked like a centaur, in truth. A winged robot centaur with a whole lot of thorny spikes arching out of his body. Fancy.

Longhorn and Strada took out of their internal compartments and lit what looked like mechanical torches, hilts of silvered metal topped with brackets clasping white flames. They quietly moved forward as one, bowing at the waist before Onyx Prime. They dipped their torches into a brazier at the foot of the statue and stepped back - bowing a second time.

"Onyx Prime," Strada intoned. "Patron of beastformers."

Longhorn moved first, stepping to the left - in front of a massive, chaotically arranged construct that was barely recognizable as a mech. "Amalgamous Prime, creator of the transformation-cog and first inventor," he quietly announced, lighting the next brazier.

Strada did the next: an ordinary looking mech in most aspects, save for the elaborate greatsword in his hands. "Prima, first Matrix-bearer and first of all Primus's creations."

Longhorn took over, stopping before a hammer-wielding femme of immense size. "Solus Prime, the first forgemaster."

A hunch-packed mech of some bulk: "Alchemist Prime, the first scientist."

A tiny, sparkling-sized robot hovering in an energy bubble: "Micronus Prime, first of the Mini-Cons."

A towering mech, standing well over all others present: "Nexus Prime, first of the Combiners."

A thin mech in a cloak holding a datapad and a quill: "Alpha Trion, the first scribe."

A warrior-mech, with a cannon affixed to one of his arms: "Megatronus, the first traitor."

A slender mech with two backswept horns: "Liege Maximo, the first manipulator."

A floating mech with many limbs and tendrils: "Quintus Prime, creator of the first mortal enemy - the Quintessons."

A gilded mech with empty optics and shivering blades arrayed across his body: "Vector Prime, first and last protector of time."

Hawkmoon tried her best not to flinch, not to startle, because the statue - it wasn't anything like what she saw in the... the BEFORE/NOW/AFTER. Not that she'd seen much, but... definitely not this.

The last statue, which Strada stopped in front of, was featureless. Humanoid, and that was basically it. "The Unnamed, the Arisen, lost to history, bound for the future - heir of Prima. The first to forget; the first to be forgotten."

Cyberwarp stepped forward, enthralled. "This is... this is fantastic," she murmured. "Like the Seeker Shrine in central Vos, but..."

"Impressive, right?" Longhorn asked, turning around. Some of his previous swagger had returned - if a touch subdued.

"Certainly. Hawkmoon?"

Hawkmoon forced a smile, still staring at the statue of Vector Prime. "Yeah... yeah, it is."

This wasn't what she remembered. At all.

Maybe Nightbeat had been mistaken.

Or maybe... or maybe the locals, the Krensha Clan, were wrong, and they'd sculpted the Prime the wrong way, but Cyberwarp didn't look surprised by it - and she'd probably seen other sculptures of the same figures.

Or maybe... maybe they were all wrong.

Hawkmoon wasn't sure which option she wanted to be true. Which she was more afraid of. A mech had died for the illusion of the marble figure in front of her. Two mechs.

Because of her.

Hawkmoon kept smiling, kept hiding what she really felt, and added, "This is great. This is fantastic."

I don't like it. I don't like it all. I want to tear it down.

I just want to go home.

AN: Huge thanks to Nomad Blue!

I'm taking some liberties with a couple of aspects, I know, but for the beastformers - particularly this bunch - I have Nomad Blue to thank. There were a couple of fascinating original concepts about them he shared like... I want to say months, but it was probably more like years. So... yeah, thanks to him for allowing me to run with it!