Chapter 9: The Grand Tournament

Metal feet shambled across metal ground. The robot limped with one hand braced against the nearby wall. Servos stuttered and loose metal rattled against their own fragile frame. Optics blinked hard as a mind of circuits replayed the experience from just moments before. Warm air vented out of the robots cooling system; alleviating the heat from the overworked hydraulics, and a sphere of energy burning hot with not only the hunger for answers… but a sliver of hope.

'Were the Quintessons wrong about our lifespans?' Tracer thought to himself, remembering the sight of Alpha Trion drifting off and vanishing into the glowing pool. That smile as the energon poured through every crack in his body. The wise old robot spoke as though he welcomed death as Tracer watched his spark flickering in its final moments before…

Tracer braced himself. Holding his body from falling forward as his optics glazed over. Remembering something Lodex Beta had said in the tunnels: "A catalyst…" He had been talking about the process to convert energon into usable energy, something seemed to be missing to perfect the process. Could a Spark be this catalyst?

Tracer hobbled back into the depot where his transport and TL were still waiting. Miscel had been working in his tiny office. Tracer saw his inattentive posture as he approached. Miscel's head was a polished dome, bordered by a squared-away chinstrap and blocky audio receptors. Facial features were only installed just prior to activation. It was done in such haste that his mouth was mistakenly installed slightly off-centre. He eventually looked up to see a scraped-up Tracer limping over, his joints barely holding together.

"Woah…" Miscel gasped "Are you alright? What happened?" He rummaged for some simple tools and sprang through his office window to examine Tracer.

"Uh, I don't know…" Tracer was dodging the subject. He didn't understand it himself, explaining it to someone else would sound like moronic ramblings. "He got away before I could get a look at him."

Miscel torqued Tracer's knee back into place, moving to the next limb while Tracer leaned high against a wall.

"What happened though?" Miscel asked concerned, holding back a chuckle. "I haven't seen anyone buckled so bad since Neus forgot to disengage his harness before ejecting the torgram sonodampermode… heh, and we always cover that on day one orientation!"

"Yeah, let's say I took the express elevator…" Tracer said somewhat sarcastic "then someone decided to hit the emergency stop."

"Well I hope that bot's looking just as bad as you are."

"Look at me, Miscel…" Tracer smirked glancing at his makeshift frame "The day I was made they took a bunch of old parts, put them in a compactor and this is what fell out… My right hand can't type four lines of code without folding into storage mode. If there's any bot anywhere that's as damaged as me… well, I don't even know what I'd do! That'd be incredible though." Tracer collected himself "Ha, no. Nobody got hurt except me. I have a lot of bad memories falling from heights. Other bots seem to land just fine while I always seem to find the worst possible way to meet the floor."

"There's always a way to fix that." Miscel tightened up the last of Tracer's joints. "The assembler can give you some impact-resistant upgrades, and if that doesn't work he can reprogram you to be a complete coward." The two protoforms shared a lame smile. "There, that's as good as I can do. You might want to get back to your ride-along." Miscel nodded to Tracer's transport "A few times I was going to see if he's alright by himself in there."

Tracer's mind hummed a moment. It took a moment to realize Miscel was talking about to TL. She'd been sitting completely still this whole time.

"Oh right…" Tracer propped up. He thanked Miscel for the quick fix and returned to the transport. Opened the door and climbed in. He collapsed in a heap onto the seat. TL looked over. Her face blended concern and curiosity as she counted Tracer's newest batch of scrapes and dents.

"You get into a fight?"

"Yeah…" Tracer relaxed a little. TL dialed her serious mood back down to 'feisty'. Tracer read this and joined her. "I turned the corner and I got jumped by not one but six rogue protoforms. I didn't want to embarrass them so I let them take a few free shots before teaching them all some manners."

Tracer waited for her to continue the playful tangent, instead hearing her soft hum as she sat back and waited. He took some cool air into his vents and tried to compose himself. He dialed the serious up.

"I am sorry for what I said before."

"Meh, I'm after all that." She shrugged. "My whole life is moving from one job to the next. I meet lots of protoforms, but I don't make a lot of friends. I let myself have a little higher than normal expectations for you, but that's my fault not yours."

"You've only known me for a day!" Tracer smirked again "I don't think you have enough data to really say I've definitively undershot your expectations."

"Hmm well… I've had a good while sitting right here to think it over and, yep. You're okay, I guess… heh. I've encountered personalities like yours. Yeah, you're a little different I guess, but the way you conduct yourself is still like typical worker-bot. Until you ran off there I thought if you were going to bore me to death going on and on about this dull job you're stuck in."

"Are you kidding me?" Tracer scoffed in astonishment. "You were getting all excited talking about harmonizers and cleaning cooling vents!"

"Yeah, and I got moved to a new job every day. So between the two of us who's really leading the more interesting life?"

"You say it's 'not my fault' but you still make it sound like it really is." His optics narrowed. "Fine. here's something interesting for you… A few days ago, I watched a protoform die. His spark was fading before my eyes. I saw him again today, alive!"

TL rolled her eyes. "Oh yeah, I'm sure."

"I wouldn't make this up. Have you ever heard the name Alpha Trion?"

"No. Why, who is that?"

"I'd say he's probably the oldest living protoform. But he was also a leader in the revolt right when I was built. He caused the blackout that allowed you to escape. If you wanted to meet the bot that freed you, he's the one. I probably wouldn't say his name out loud though, if anyone hears you talking about him you'll probably be arrested and interrogated."

TL smiled, looked up at Tracer. "So I suppose now you want to find this Alpha Trion and be free of all this? You're still not the rebel I thought you were. I've been trying to figure out if you're sincere or just trying to impress me, or something. You've had a nice life of getting jobs handed to you. But let's face it, at the end of the day the only spark you care about is your own. I'll bet you're still just going to play it safe and keep this boring, mediocre job. So say whatever you want, we both know you're full of scrap."

Tracer looked out the windshield. "If you had asked me this morning, I would have agreed with you. But now I'm not so sure. I saw him."

"We'll just from looking at you I wouldn't say he's too crazy about seeing you again. Y'know you really should go see the assembler. You're practically falling to pieces before my very optics."

"I will I will. But I thought we were still going to check out the Colosseum."

"Oh yeah." TL let her smile show. "We're going after the last delivery?"

"The last stop is low priority. We can leave it until tomorrow" Tracer felt more at ease. His mind flipped channels and he considered the one mystery still eluding him. "I just need to make one stop first."

The transport pulled up right in front of the entrance to stowing sector three. Tracer poked his head out the cab and scanned for any enforcers. None. Good.

"Why are you stopping here?" TL asked a little disappointed.

"Just wait here." Tracer said without looking back. He dashed inside and joined the crowd of waiting protoforms for the platform to return.

The platform arrived and the crowd shuffled on. Tracer lightly weaved his way behind and crept up next to the platform's operator: A slender, crude robot… Delta-M6.

"Hey buddy, how's it going?" Tracer whispered as he stepped in close. He looked out as if talking to himself. "It's been awhile, 'thought it was time we did some catching-up." He felt optics look him over with total contempt.

"Go away!" Delta whispered nervously. "You almost got us both unsparked last time." Whether he actually had a mouthpiece wasn't clear, one could yet be concealed behind his the faceplate covering the bottom half of his face. If he had one, it would probably be scowling in frustration.

Calm and smug, Tracer kept whispering "And I've done a great job keeping everything to myself. I just want to ask a few questions."

Delta-M6 was getting agitated. He busied himself stopping the platform and preparing to stow the first of the protoforms. He occupied his optics out one side as he whispered "I don't know anything. Go away!"

Tracer's back followed Delta, he glanced back as he spoke off the rails of the platform. "Hey, stay cylinder will you? Do you remember when we crossed paths back in the old generator? I asked you where Alpha Trion was and you told me exactly where he went. You must've thought I was helping him; which means you were helping him. Were you?"

"No… now PLEASE—"

"Then how do you know Alpha Trion?"

Delta finished loading a handful of protoforms into their cubicles. He hit the controls sending them all speeding farther down into the complex. Less audio processors to hear, but less conversations for cover... he waited for the best moment to whisper. "I wouldn't say I do. I was working in the generator. I heard him running through telling any protoforms to get out before the explosion. That was exactly what I was doing when you saw me. I was just trying to get out."

"That'd be the closest you've come to say you're actually a protoform. How were you made? Are you a sparked drone, or sparked right from the start? Were you made by the assembler or the Quintessons? Everyone thinks you're a drone, you sure look the part, so when did you pick up that spark?"

Delta nearly exploded. "Stop saying the S-word! You really need to learn how to keep a low-profile. You're starting to be too curious for your own good! Just because you want to know something doesn't mean it's one bit of good for anyone else!"

"Alright, alright. I'll wait until everyone else is gone."

"When we're done here, will you promise to never speak to me again?"

"I promise. Cross my spark."

The platform finished its run dropping protoforms off at their stowing compartments. It was finally just Tracer and Delta. Delta shifted to an open stowing compartment, caressing the controls. "Your number's up, buddy."

"Take us back to the entrance."

Delta's optic twitched. "Fine. I'd make your questions count. You've only got a few clicks before we get there."

Tracer drew in cool air, concentrating. "What was your job at the old generator?"

"I maintained the energon pipes."

Tracer felt he was getting somewhere. "The pipes underground? Did you have to climb down into the tunnels?

"We never had to send anybody down. The Quintessons mapped out the energon deposits long before I was ever built. All we ever had to do was drill down, feed down the lines, link up the pumps and watch the fuel flow."

"Have the pipes ever flushed up something in the energon?"

"Sure, there's debris now and then, that why we filtered the lines."

"I was thinking something a bit bigger than mineral deposits. I'm talking about some parts, or maybe a whole robot?"

Delta thought for a moment. "You could certainly fit one through the pipes. Yeah, sure once in a while we'd be picking out some scrap. A relay here, some connectors there; but we never found so much as a limb let alone an entire robot."

"So what would happen if a robot got flushed up with the energon?"

"It'd get caught in one of the filters. We'd see the blockage on the gauges, they'd seal off the branch and do a full system diagnostic until the problem was fully rectified."

Tracer turned more directly to Delta. "What would you do with the body?"

Delta Shrugged. "It's never happened, so your guess is as good as mine." He looked at the approaching entrance. "Times up."

"Stop!" Tracer tapped his shoulder, he caught a look that told him Delta knew he was being watched, but not in this particular spot. The transport came to an abrupt halt. "One last question… Has any protoform ever got energon on them?" He heard Delta sigh, still frustrated.

"Never happened. Energon is pretty dangerous stuff. Drones that got some on them experience overloads or just shut down. Putting a spark too close to energon might be like dousing a flame with rocket fuel. We have cleaning stations to rinse you off if any got on you."

"But it powers everything… even us. Doesn't it?"

"It does, but nothing can run off pure energon. It's too unstable. The generators convert the energy into fuel that we can use. You, me, everything we have runs off energon by-products."

"Ah, I see…" Delta could almost hear Tracer's processors experience a major blockage and swiftly reengaged the platform's driver.

"This is it." Delta smiled with relief. "From now on we're going our separate ways."

Tracer uttered before finally stepping away "Yeah, until they toss our sparkless casings into the same pile."

"Yours before mine."

The platform locked in place at the entrance. Tracer squeezed between the protoforms trampling onto the platform. As he approached the exit he thought to himself: 'Either Alpha Trion really is dead, and his body got flushed up and recycled by the Quintessons, or the energon kept his spark alive. Given what Miscel said about reusing old parts, it could only have been the original Alpha Trion. I didn't learn anything I didn't already suspect... Except that I'm actually starting to enjoy meddling.'

The Colosseum: the outside walls stretched so tall they confused the optic. Tracer and TL stood in the dense crowd filling the open street. He watched the brim at the peak appear to sway closer and closer with every step. A protoform next to him was looking trying to see ahead of the crowd. Tracer continued to stare at the outside of this impressive structure. A faint etching of a robot could be seen on the high wall. The robot was in a running pose thrusting a pike across to another robot etching. A protoform behind Tracer kept nudging as he turned to talk to someone further back in the crowd.

Tracer and TL walked wide-optics under an arched entrance. The claustrophobic pathway branched off and protoforms dispersed into smaller corridors. They moved with the flow of robots, walking through a long hall that held a slight curve to the left. He shuffled along until the way made a sharp left to a wide set of shallow stairs. A light fell as they stepped out; daylight. The entire structure seemed to be an enormous dish. Tracer looked across to see the tiny shapes of protoforms piling in to the open interior of the structure. Each robot found a space to sit and face towards a recessed pit at the structure's centre. The pit was a perfect ellipse. Tracer found them a space to sit only a couple rows up from the drop into the pit. He could see at each end of the elliptical pit were two high portcullises. Columns were built into the walls around the pit. Tracer remembers days before when he and an old loader protoform dropped off the same columns. All of them were made flush to the outer wall except two: standing out from the wall to hold up an elaborate balcony. Behind the balcony was a high passage to a dark room. Tracer focused his optics and peered through the shadow. He could see nothing.

Throughout the Colosseum were many enforcers. Some kept spectators marching in the corridors, while others patrolled the open seating area for any troublesome patrons. Tracer had never seen so many enforcers in one place. Something about that kept nagging at his mind.

"Aw, bust me! There's nothing here!" A protoform whined climbing down the steps behind Tracer. He heard hundreds of voices since arriving; but this was one he'd heard before.

"Well, there better be something here…" replied another voice "I brought Lithia here for a fun time, otherwise I'd still be working."

Tracer knew that voice. A protoform helped pull him out of the caverns beneath the city. He mistook Tracer for an enforcer, otherwise he might have left him to die. He said his name was Spander. Tracer slowly turned his head and looked over. TL turned too. There were three protoforms standing behind while Spander found a spot to sit. His arm was insensitively clenched around the shoulder of a female. Her face was paralyzed with loss: a loss of time; a loss of energy; a loss of meaning. Tracer couldn't measure her level of instability. She could scream or laugh and her expression would not change. Spander held her tight, raising his comfort while diminishing hers. TL knew the look. She'd seen it before.

"What are you looking at?" Barked one of the protoforms.

"Your friend doesn't look like she's doing so good." TL lashed out. "Maybe she'd be happier if you left her alone!"

"Hey loader!" Spander taunted at Tracer "They actually let you have one of those? You should tell her to ask your permission before speaking!" TL shot out of her seat. Fists clenched.

Tracer grabbed around TL's arm, making sure no enforcers were watching he gently guiding her away from a confrontation. "Who? Taurus-Luna here? He 'aint a fem. He gets that all the time, they just built him with the wrong vocal processors. Naw, he's a loader like me."

Spander was eyeing TL over until one of his cronies burst out. "What? He's just a loader?"

Another one joined in. "Yeah, he drives a transport back and forth all day while the rest of us are doing all the real work."

The first one let out a deep laugh. "What a big waste."

The little third follower echoed his mate. "Yeah, we do all the real work!"

Spander leaned back "See, when you do your job right you should get a reward or a promotion. That's how it should be. I worked hard and now I'm in charge of an entire milling sector. I've even got a disgraced enforcer taking orders from me. Hard workers get all the perks… like Lithia here." He ran his hand up her arm possessively.

TL thrashed back from Tracer. "You're nothing special! So you just do what you were told, eh? Nuhwaaaay! We got a word for what you are: Construct! You're a drone with an ego! I bet you'll even stand still when they disassemble you."

Tracer stood beside TL. Keeping himself plenty calm. "Yeah, CON!" Tracer had heard the word used before. It had become a powerful insult among protoforms. It felt good to say.

A soft beeping chirped from one of Spander's mates. He looked down at a tablet on his wrist. He skimmed over some brief message before tapping Spander on the shoulder. "We got a code thirty back at the mill..."

Spander groaned, then stood up with delightful patience. "Tough words, loader. But correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm younger than you. Maybe only by a day. And your extra time hasn't granted you any real status. Let's face facts: you're a pathetic loader, while I'm head supervisor of melting mill omicron. There's a hundred like you and less than ten like me. And don't forget I even saved your worthless life once already. Now, me and my friends got somewhere we need to be. But I'd like to hear you apologize for your disrespect before we go."

Tracer felt a warm surge from his spark. It forced a smile onto his face. "You're right, Spander. I am older. In fact, my first day, my first job was to collect new sparks." Tracer gave each goon a swift look. "So before you act so important, saying how you saved one life. I personally supplied four. Yours… maybe yours… and yes perhaps even yours too, Spander." Tracer stepped over, staring into Spander's optics. "And unlike you, I don't loathe helping other protoforms. You got somewhere y'need to be? Better do as you're told and don't let me hold you up, Con."

Spander's optic quaked as they saw an enforcer walk past. Spander gestured for his gang to follow before pulling his female consort behind him. He turned around once to say "Better watch your back, Tracer!" before going out of view.

Tracer sat TL down. "You okay?" he said empathetically.

"Yeah…" She sighed. "Thanks for sticking up for me."

"Don't mention it." TL smiled over at Tracer. Tracer felt the warming in his Spark settle again. Tension all over him released.

[DWAAAAAAAAN]

A loud tone thundered in the air. Thousands of conversations paused and optics turned to the centre of the arena. They were drawn up to the shaded balcony. The tone ceased as a disc of crablike legs crawled out, carrying a heavy, jointed frame under a torso with a massively oversized cranium. This form was taller than any enforcer, and several times taller than a protoform. Five faces rested in symmetry around the equatorial-region of the sphere. This form stood proud in the light. Basking in the anticipation of their subjects, two hands raised and gestured to the crowd. There was a collective gasp for many protoforms expecting their creators to be something less… terrifying. Their posture said 'delighted' but each face bore an ominous grin. Pride grinned as he read the spectators anticipation. The Quintessons voices rang clear through the open structure.

"Welcome protoforms, and behold… your Colosseum! Precisely one year ago today we, your creators, first landed on this barren, lifeless world. Since then, we have built thousands of drones… but today we wish to honour all of you: that diverse class of robots… the protoforms!" A cheer erupted from the stands, exclaiming phrases like 'about time' and 'right on.'

Tracer and TL both felt uneasy. 'Something isn't right.'

"As a reward for your continued servitude," Greed continued "we bring you entertainment: in the form of witnessing your fellow robots fight for their very sparks! In this arena, two combatants will enter and only one will leave. There is no second place, no forfeits and no ties. Robots will be destroyed in this arena. They knowingly put their sparks on the line for the chance to be a true champion! This will be part of a Grand Tournament that will be held over many days until a single champion is left. Unprecedented glory awaits the first protoform to complete this Grand Tournament undefeated."

Malice slid into position.

"A champion must have no fear. A champion must have no weakness. Only a champion can earn our praise and demonstrate the true potential of the entire protoform product line! Who will our first champion be? Some contestants will be dedicated combat units built and trained solely for this tournament alone. However, prisoners and otherwise sub-standard units can expect… mandatory participation. Should any workforce robot wish to volunteer, we would be delighted to accommodate you. But once you've been admitted, you can never leave."

The audience seemed hushed. Tracer grew anxious, worried.

"This can't be considered entertainment." He looked around, but the faces of the other protoforms were of anticipation. They wanted to see violence. "This isn't right…" Tracer uttered looking at TL, who felt the same.

The portcullis at one end of the elliptical arena opened. Tracer could hear heavy slow clicks as it crept up. Pride took the centre slot as a heavy, rounded form marched to the centre of the arena.

"Let's meet our first contenders…" said Pride "Artisan metalsmiths perfected techniques of folding steel to strengthen it. This all-but-forgotten art has been revived in this robust juggernaut. Hands are for menial tasks, that's why this fighter has two hydraulic jaws on his arms. Those are weapons designed to instantly maim an opponent, but an even more gruesome fate awaits those who can avoid them. For the sleek ridge you see orbiting his torso is in fact a rotary-blade. A blade that spins fast to cut clean through an opponent's armour and deep enough to sever a limb or destroy even a spark chamber. Our good subjects, please welcome… Obstin-8!"

The figure reached the centre and stood at attention. Tracer could see the aforementioned blade encircling his round torso—from his shoulder down to the opposite hip. The robots head was sunk in, concealing everything below his eyes. A single wide fin swept forward, giving him a sleek metal mohawk. Thick forearms and shins held their position. Even standing still, this bot made an enforcer look flimsy.

The tall gate closed just as an identical gate opened at the opposite end of the arena. A thin form stretched his legs as he strut out into view. Inquiry slid into position.

"Our next contender—by contrast—is a mech with minimal armour. His frame is light, allowing him to easily outrun an opponent. But escape won't be an option in this challenge. Reaction time, balance, and a strict training regimen have streamlined his very mind into a deadly weapon. Our faithful subjects, please welcome Argent! Will his brain be enough to stand up against Obstin-8's brawn? Or will slow and sturdy overcome speed? Protoforms. Take a good look at your first contenders. At our command they will begin combat and only one will walk out of the arena with their spark intact!"

"Ah, 'sank you…" Obstin-8 whispered to the silent cosmos as he looked his scraggly opponent over.

"Obstin-8… Argent…" Faith took the centre slot and glared. He glared down at the combatants; he glared out at the spectators. "Salute your masters…" The robots in the pit stood several paces from each other. They both fully turned to the Quintessons. Obstin-8 raised a closed clamp-fist high over his head while Argent presented an open palm as he bowed braggingly. "Now, let this match; and the Grand Tournament… BEGIN!"