Chapter 22

"Balefire"

"You've been quiet," Nacelle said, nudging her with his elbow. Hawkmoon frowned at him.

"I've just been... thinking," she said with a shrug.

"About?"

"... Things."

Nacelle gave her an expectant look. "What things?"

Hawkmoon mulled it over, sighed, stood up from where she'd been sorting through a box of odd scrap the beastformers had offered in case they needed repairs on their eminent trek through open space, and she transformed her servo into a shard carbine, aimed it at an invisible opponent standing by the gaping borehole of the open hangar. "Bang," she muttered, lifting her carbine slightly to simulate the recoil. Nacelle flinched. "This is what I'm thinking about."

"Shooting?" Nacelle cautiously ventured.

Hawkmoon grimaced and lowered her weapon. "About the power a firearm has," she admitted. "Even just as a symbol. Freeport Azal wasn't that far from Cybertron - and it was... Look, I'm glad we didn't stick around there long. But those were still people we can understand - mecha. If we go out far enough, looking for energon, we're not going to get much more of that."

"Contrail did warn us that there were dangerous things out in the universe."

"He's right," Hawkmoon confirmed. "So right. It's just... I don't know. I don't know anymore."

"You've been sulking since Longhorn took you to the shrine," Nacelle pointed out. "You sure this isn't something else?"

Hawkmoon spared him a warning look. "Just leave it, please."

"Like to keep your secrets, don't you?"

"Nacelle."

He held up his hands in surrender. "Look, if you're not going to talk, that's fine by me - but you know this bothers Cyberwarp."

"I know," Hawkmoon sighed. "But I can't exactly... I've got things that are my things. My problems, my slices of life."

"I don't know what you say half the time." Nacelle grimaced. "Swiftsear's finishing up in a joor, by the way. Vale and Sandstorm said so. Pretty sure Vos is giving us the go-ahead. We'll be out a while - just us, like you said. No other mecha. Not a hundred parsecs around. You really want to be the one keeping secrets?"

"You guys are merciless," Hawkmoon snapped. "Just fragging leave it. Trust me; better the secrecy than the real thing."

"Y'know, I actually doubt that."

"Leave. It."

Nacelle's faceplates fell. "Alright," he said, quieter. "I've crossed a line. I'm sorry."

Hawkmoon huffed. "Please, please please, just let me have my moments and I'll come back to you in one piece. You know I will."

"One piece, yeah, but cracked straight down the middle. We're worried, 'Moon."

"It's better this way."

"For who?" he challenged.

Hawkmoon evenly met his gaze. "Everyone," she retorted.

Nacelle winced. "If you say so," he said, and walked away.

Her spark twisted; she hated how much every little personal failure hurt. Hawkmoon vented a sigh. Diplomacy had never been her strong suit before, and it was wearing on her now. Why bother - she had a hoverbike, a gun, and a free ticket to eternal life. Or used to, anyways. She still wasn't entirely sure the whole transition-into-an-alien thing was to her tastes - all the little thrills notwithstanding.

The cost sure hadn't been.

"You are the one they call Hawkmoon, yes?"

Hawkmoon turned around, a retort on her vocalizer, and froze up at the sight of the caped beastformer. "Thunderhowl, sir."

"You defeated Longhorn," Thunderhowl went on. His sword was nowhere to be seen, but his claws - and servos powerful enough to crush a mech's helm with contemptuous ease - were still potent enough to keep her on edge. "You. A Seeker."

"Maybe he slipped up," Hawkmoon pointed out, relaxing her stance.

"Maybe. Or maybe there's some genuine worth in you." Thunderhowl reached out - with slow consideration. Hawkmoon narrowed her optics as one of his digits tipped under her chin and tilted her up. "Yes, there it is - the haughty nobility of the old Vosian sky-dancers."

"What do you want, sir?"

Thunderhowl's optics sharpened. His servo fell away, and he rolled his shoulders. "It's a pity Vos has its clutches in you," he murmured, only just loud enough for both of them to hear. "You would have made a fine addition to the lodge."

"I don't do... religion."

"You're referring to Onyx Prime?" Thunderhowl asked. Hawkmoon reluctantly nodded. "Longhorn shouldn't have brought you to the shrine."

"Because I'm an outsider?"

"Because faith is not what we preach." Thunderhowl shifted, arms crossing over his chest, just under the wolf-head. "Valour's our currency - and nothing else. He left you with the wrong impression."

"And you're here to change that?" Hawkmoon inquired with a frown. "... Why? You should do it for Skydive; he's fascinated with your kind."

"Your 'Skydive' did not best one of my students in single-combat," Thunderhowl retorted.

"So?"

"You'll figure it out." Thunderhowl retreated. "If the time ever comes that you find yourself in need of sanctuary, you may return here. If you ever find yourself without a purpose in life, know that we can give it to you. That is all."

The beastformer turned around and marched away - disappearing back into the stronghold. Two of the watching guards (they were a suspicious lot, the 'flesh-lovers') bowed as the wolf-mech passed, then returned to their unerring vigil. Hawkmoon snorted and went back to helping the Dartwings pack the remaining crates of energon onto the Aurorus's already overstocked cargo bay with Cyberwarp and Quell. The former reached out and touched her arm.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm... I'm fine." Hawkmoon huffed through her vents. "Just... been a weird stay, is all."

"They are a strange people," Quell admitted. He passed the last crate over to Ampitude and watched, puzzled, as the Dartwing hobbled his/her way into the shuttle. "But we're already packing some of that ourselves."

"Ain't that the truth," Hawkmoon snorted again - this time with amusement. "Ah, there's Swiftsear now. Northwind! We're loading up!"

"Got it!" the other Seeker called back, perched by the other end of the gunship as their unofficial lookout. He straightened up and unfolded his wings. "Skydive!"

"I heard!"

"Nacelle!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know!"

"Everyone's here, 'Moon!" Northwind confirmed.

Hawkmoon raised a servo in acknowledgement. She walked away and met Swiftsear and Vale halfway to the ship, a question waiting behind her vocalizer, but Swiftsear answered before she could even give voice to it. "We're heading out now," he announced. "Vos has given us the go-ahead. We'll be going radio-silent for a couple decaorns at most, but they'll expect a report by the end of the quartex at the latest."

"So we'll be coming back this way?" Hawkmoon asked.

"Is that a problem?"

"No."

Swiftsear marched on, to inform the others.

They departed before the joor was out.

Hawkmoon flickered a couple of forward-facing lights on and boosted closer to the Aurorus. The Brachian Divide was a swathe of emptiness; shattered rogue planets and stars long since extinguished, and that was if they were lucky. Most of the Divide was empty - a scar of lack in a galaxy otherwise full of stellar bodies to chart out. They were quick to discover why the old Cybertronian Empire hadn't come this way often - because there was nothing for them to stake a claim to.

::It's cold,:: Cyberwarp complained, eight orns into their trek through the long, long shadows of absolute null - according to Hawkmoon's chronometer, anyways. She wouldn't have been otherwise able to tell.

::Thermal-regulators shorting out?:: Nacelle asked with concern.

::No, not that. I mean... I don't like this route.::

::Ah. Well, the Divide stretches pretty far, in every direction too. Better a decaorn-straight burn than spending half a vorn trying to circle around.::

::Yeah, I know, but still.::

::It's not an encouraging sight,:: Hawkmoon agreed.

::Exactly! Where's all the... look, I'm not even talking about life - cyberformed or organic - but by Primus, even a white dwarf would work. There's nothing here. It's depressing.::

::At least we're with others,:: Nacelle murmured. He traced closer - they were all pulling into a tight formation, irrationally wary of their surroundings. The Dartwings and Swiftsear were still in the midst of calculating their next warp-trajectory, leaving them temporarily stranded in unknown territory - just gliding into the gloom. At least their other long-range sensors were working - kept them from colliding with minor astral bodies.

::How did this place even form in the first place?:: Hawkmoon asked suddenly, the thought only just striking her. ::I mean, it can get dark outside the galaxy, and we're definitely skating on the edge, but... the Divide looks artificial to me. I mean, just look at your astrocartographic chart. That's a cut - and nothing natural is so clean.::

::No one knows,:: Cyberwarp admitted.

Nacelle hummed. ::There're old tales that it was Primus and Unicron battling around these parts, and that one of Unicron's fangs caught on an edge of reality, tearing away. Thus - the Brachian Divide.::

::But really?:: Hawkmoon pressed.

::I don't know. Maybe another civilization tried to sector off our empire in the early days.::

::With the power to do this?:: Cyberwarp questioned incredulously. ::They would've been more than a match for Cybertron.::

::Was just a guess. So - yeah, I don't know.::

::Huh...:: Hawkmoon murmured.

It wasn't until a full fourteen orns - almost a decaorn and a half - out from the Krensha Holdfast that they emerged from the dark of the Brachian Divide and into the relatively young light of the Cyst Stars. The first star-system they tasted was lifeless, poor, but one of the leaking gas giants had a moon with a couple of notable energon deposits. The Dartwings led an initial mining operation of the first they came across, and Swiftsear noted the coordinates into their shared datalogue; it wasn't even remotely close enough to satisfy Cybertron, but their formation-leader mentioned it could support a forward resupply-station in the event they did find a more resource-plentiful world.

They moved onto the next. Nothing. The third system had a sparse asteroid belt with a little better prospects, but the asteroids drifted too widely from each other to make it any more a profitable venture than the first moon fuel-wise. The fourth and fifth offered them nothing.

The sixth introduced them to a thinned transmission hailing from as far as a whole parsec deeper into the Cyst Stars region, one cut off after only a few seconds of incomprehensible noise. Swiftsear set the Dartwings towards de-scrambling the moment it hit them, and had the rest of them to stop in place and array themselves around the Aurorus in the event it was "a territorial challenge," or so Swiftsear warned them.

::No challenge,:: Deciforge reluctantly reported after a brief pause.

::Then what?:: Swiftsear demanded.

Deciforge played the newly-deciphered contents of the transmission for them - and they all closely listened as the hysterical scream of a thousand voices mingled together and died away into silence. Cyberwarp jolted; Hawkmoon felt her spark, and those of her trine's, begin to hammer almost uncontrollably.

::That,:: Swiftsear began, half-a-breem after the shriek had faded away, ::was the death-knell of an alien species.::

::That was... horrible!:: Cyberwarp gasped.

::How do you know?:: Hawkmoon sharply questioned, her voice level - but only just.

Swiftsear's alt-mode angled itself, and she knew his optical sensors were settling on her. ::Because it's not the first time I've heard it,:: he grimly explained. ::And it won't be your last.::

::Organic-based, probably.:: Vale concluded. ::They don't live near so long as we do - both individually and as civilizations. More prone to self-harm than common cyberforms as well. Most die stillborn on their birthworlds, while some damn themselves by overreaching, and the developing genetic divergence leaves them open to all-new biological plagues purpose-built for tearing their fragile bodies apart. Or they crush each other in small, petty wars over one little thing or the other. We've seen it happen time and again. It's unfortunately natural for their kind.::

That's not true. Humanity isn't like that, Hawkmoon thought to herself. Humans are survivors.

But then, she mused, they'd been heading the same way as how Vale described until the Traveler had come along, hadn't they? Her fractured Exo-dreams and the many old pre-Golden Age records picked up by the Cryptarchy asserted as much. Humanity, saved by something alien - something greater. The only reason they were able to reach out to their own sister-worlds, the only reason they hadn't burned each other to a bloody crisp in fiery nuclear wrath - they owed their survival as a species to the Traveler.

It was oddly embarrassing to consider. Still, though - Hawkmoon felt more of a connection to those 'extinction-fated organics' than to the energon-and-cyberform creatures around her.

At least some of the time.

::What now?:: Skydive curiously asked aloud - or at least across their squadron's shared comms channel.

::Not finished,:: Deciforge told them.

Swiftsear shifted, wing-panels flaring open. ::What's not finished?::

::Second transmission.::

::Another scream?:: Quell guessed. ::Please don't play it.::

::Wall Crawler?:: Swiftsear asked.

Deciforge mumbled something - in a dialect that wasn't Cybertronian-common. He followed it up, though, with ::Scream caught another - like Insecticon web, yes? Dragged message with it.::

::Where did it come from?::

::Nearby. Close. Red giant.::

::Could be another civ,:: Sandstorm noted.

::Or the same,:: Vale pointed out. ::Still in its death throes. Not a welcome sight for first-time Energon Seekers.::

::They've got to learn about it sooner or later.::

Swiftsear pinged them for silence, then mulled it over - allowing a full two breems to pass them by. ::Wall Crawler,:: he said. ::Trace that second transmission. If there's anything alive at the other end, we can inquire after energon-worlds. If there isn't, or they don't know, we'll just carry on.::

::Could be hostile,:: Sandstorm groaned. ::We'll have to do a quick back-jump.::

::We might. Everyone, ready your combat protocols. Don't fire unless fired upon - or if I order it.::

Hawkmoon activated her shard carbine, slinging the weapon under her hull as a turret. A small armament of auto-locking missiles activated within her primary arms' compartment - ready to fly.

::I'll take a look at the datalogue,:: Vale announced. ::Could be we already know this species.::

::Do that,:: Swiftsear told her. ::Wall Crawler?::

::Have coordinates.::

::Ping us. Everyone? Prepare a jump - and be ready for anything.::

The system they arrived at was, apparently, recorded in the datalogue as brief entries by early imperial explorers - not so long ago that the red giant had been in a different form, but some of the information was highly outdated. The place was a cradle of life, a one in a million, or so the datalogue had asserted. The system - 62732CA - was home to eleven separate planets, with six of them being gas giants and another two being utterly inhospitable, but the remaining three had not only the conditions suitable for organic life, but actually sustained it - and well enough that sapience had quickly developed.

62732CA-c was the furthest of the three living planets, and cast almost entirely in an arctic deadzone - but housed a rather hardy population of multi-cellular creatures. The two most notable species were Etchek, a particularly large and ravenous sort of warm-blooded reptilian carnivore, and their close relatives the Variitriis, a tribal sort of people who had swapped their front pair of limbs (they had six altogether, according to snap-pics attached to the data-entry) from killing claws into manipulators of common tools - usually made out of bone. The Etchek and Variitriis had a symbiotic hunter-prey relationship - in that they both preyed on one another, and were slowly driving each other to extinction.

The Etchek and Variitriis were now dead.

62732CA-b, next in line, was a tropical world of originally full of viral fungal life, but then upon which a global vine-forest had threaded, blotting out the light of the sun for everything below and creating a planet-wide graveyard for the massive killer plant to feed on. Within the vine-forest more life had evolved, including a clever, mischievous little hunter-gatherer people called the Marsiup - like a cross between monkeys and ocelots, with spotted hides, prehensile tails, hands designed for clambering through the vine-forest and little thumbs ideal to sort through all the fruits and other potential foodstuffs of the green, green world.

The vine-forests had been poisoned. The Marsiup, and all other life on their world, had starved and perished.

62732CA-a, the closest to the sun, was an arid desert world of blackened rock and choking dust. Only the Imojel had found a way to thrive - and only because they'd penned off all the other creatures of the world they found useful and cordoned the few oases of the planet off to the rest. The Imojel were a straight-spined race of dry-skinned amphibians - with pebbly green-yellow skin, slitted black eyes, horizontal mouths filled with sharp teeth and a strangely humanoid form. They were the most productive, creative, and innovative of all the sapient races to be born in the light of 62732CA - and mercilessly so. From the moment they were hatched into the spawning-pools fenced off from the rest of their oasis-settlements, they were on their own - each tadpole struggling and bullying for every scrap of spare food and then eating each other when times got lean (which wasn't all that rare for their brutal planet). They'd built themselves up rapidly into first their individual Oasis-Cities, and then into a planet-wide empire reinforced by rigid protocol and a distinct lack of empathy even for their own kind. They poisoned the wilderness beyond in their haste to advance their societies and technologies, but were crippled by their own internal self-interest - each field of science and progress marred by backstabbing and glory-hogging.

Their world was under attack. The Imojel were at war. And they, even with their perfect armies of black-armoured exterminators armed with flame-throwers and beam-rifles, supported by hovertanks and daunting magnetically-suspended airships, were losing ground and cities at a frightening rate.

An enemy from beyond the star-system had seeded their toxic bio-sphere with a resilient form of life - broods of starving skeletal creatures guided by covens of wicked-tongued witches. Hawkmoon saw as much, when the Dartwings sent her - along with everyone else - snap-pics taken from high in 62732CA-a's orbit. The Imojel were under attack by a foe multitudes more cruel than their own.

They were fighting the Hive.

AN: Thanks to Nomad Blue for editing!