Chapter 17: Unsparked

"He's waking up." said a familiar voice out of the darkness. The sound was almost ephemeral, existing below total perception. The dormant Quintesson tried to shake off the fatigue, but to no avail. The darkness was comforting.

'Rest. I need rest…'

"Inquiry, can you hear us?" called another voice. This time the sound stirred a more urgent response. The darkness no longer brought comfort. There is work to be done. The Quintesson's mind reached out and opened his mechanical eyes.

"I… I can hear you." He uttered. Feeling a sense of confusion as his senses returned to him.

"Do you know where you are?" That voice he knew, it could only be Timeless, a judgeseat from his own court. The more he focused on remembering, the more this name somehow felt wrong. Not Timeless. Faith. The name had somehow been burned into his mind. A burn that was treated and concealed. Emotions clashed but the rational mind could not explain why. 'Secrets already lie nearby.' The Quintesson moved his head to glance around the room. There were many robotic servants running this way and that as they waited for their next command. There are windows but no hint as to what lies outside.

"Yes." He said hesitantly, "We're at Perimetus XII; we've just signed a treaty with the Van'Quaij."

"And do you know who you are?" another voice asked. That one had to be Flawless; the disdain in his voice was sharp. But, again, that name was wrong… 'how could it be wrong?' The Quintesson focused inward to find something, anything. A memory. An intuition. A guess? 'No, I never guess.'

"I am Doubtless; Judgeseat of the High Court of the Kraken Nebula." As soon as he spoke aloud he could sense the other minds. The neural connections are still there: faint impressions of what thoughts stir inside. 'The other four are judging me. Am I being tested?'

Faith said "Your name is Inquiry, and right now you're remembering the incident of Perimetus XII. Interesting… but that happened more than eight hundred years ago, and not to us. We Quintessons carry duplicated memories going back thousands of years. It may take some time for you to reorient yourself. We did… extensive work inside your mind."

'Extensive…' another burn ached. 'What have they done to me?' an incomplete mosaic of memories came into focus. "Yes, I remember now. We ventured into the… Untamed Quadrant. What… what planet are we on again?"

"This planet has no name." That voice could only be Limitless, or rather his contemporary: Greed. "And with any luck should never be worthy of one."

"I suggest, Inquiry, that you rest for now." said Pride. "This is a critical stage in our operation and we can't delay ourselves bringing you up to speed. We need your skills, but not at this particular moment. Pay close attention, we will answer any questions you have at a later time. Do you understand?"

"Yes… yes, I understand. But this name… Inquiry, does not appeal to me. I have no desire to seek mere answers, for it is in the interest of all individuals to lie. Investigations must have direction; purpose. No more whimsical explorations into the eccentricities of lesser minds. The most reliable facts can be ascertained without any questions ever need being asked. And anything they say can, and must be used against them. Inquiry is dead. I am Suspicion, and I will prove to you that I am in every way superior to my… unbiased predecessor."

Suspicion sensed Pride was gleaming. "We are pleased to hear it. But there is no need for you to prove yourself while you're still recovering. Our audience has arrived. At any moment, our enforcers will find the resistance hideout. We will at long last resume our mission and bring this quadrant under Quintesson rule or burn every planet in our path."

"Burn!" hissed Malice.

"Once Tracer is dead." concluded Greed.

"Death!" exclaimed Malice.

"Tracer will be killed," said Faith "and the masses will cheer so loudly they won't hear our enforcers closing in around them. Hundreds will be unsparked before the danger even sets in. After that it will be too late. Our elite guards have been armed with replicas of the latest prototype weapon. When we give the signal, every one of these protoforms will be eradicated. A clean slate."

"Carnage!" howled Malice.

"It appears Malice cannot contain his excitement." commented Greed untrustingly. "We agreed to let you give the command to carry out the attack, but please restrain yourself until the time is right."

"There is no right time for genocide," sneered Malice "that's the whole point! Finally! Meager executions are not enough to satiate my hunger."

Suspicion raised a tentacle to scratch at his chin. "Even I can see this one's hunger is more liability than asset…"

Faith smiled in amusement. "Thus you already live up to your new namesake, Suspicion. True, Malice is not one for patience, but there is value in the… psychological presence he has to lesser minds. He is no beast that we must keep on a short chain. It is all a façade—even if taken to such an extreme—for reputations wins victories well before threats can been made real."

"I see."

"It's time to address our eager audience."

The light outside seemed almost blinding. It reflected off the structures and robotic spectators. Suspicion adjusted his eyes as the Court stepped out onto their platform. Lodex followed carrying their new invention. Pride took control and raised their arms to silence the rabble. They looked out at the artificial civilization they had made. Protoforms: prototype lifeforms. Prototypes exist only to be tested. There are no permanent positions available. No outcome will ever turn a simulation into reality.

Pride swept their arm across and at the far end of the arena, three thin spires rose. Each one has a rusty container skewered onto its peak. The portcullises at opposite ends of the arena opened. Tracer marched in from the North, and Razor from the South. The two combatants stopped a short distance and stared at each other for a moment. They could be seen speaking to one another briefly, but the Quintessons could not hear what they were saying. After a moment Razor looked agitated and Tracer smiled as he turned to face the Quintessons. Pride raised his arms and shouted to the masses.

"Combat is the ultimate test of determination. Two combatants clash in a test of brute strength until one has been completely destroyed. Combatants can be battered with clubs, skewered with spears, hacked by axes and slashed by swords. The choices are many, but which one is superior to all others? These are the weapons that the strong warrior would choose, but what is the weapon of the cunning? What weapon can stand against an enemy that seems unbeatable in close combat?"

Malice took control "Tracer, you have demonstrated great skill in the way of the sword. The feral nature of your spark turns you into quite the savage beast. But whatever instinct drives you, you will surely die this day unless your mind can adapt." Malice reached with his tentacle and tossed their invention high into the air, letting the audience see its distinct shape. He caught it in one hand and pointed it at the sky.

"Behold: ranged weaponry! Intelligent life always chooses the weapon that delivers maximum damage with the least amount of effort. A once unbeatable foe can be felled with as little as a single hit to their most vulnerable component, such as their power core, or their CPU. All the while keeping you far from harm's way."

The Quintessons fired shots at the targets. Blasting away large portions of them until the spires were bare. They could hear the audience gasp in shock at the thunderous sound of each shot, the bright light of impact and the terror of desperately trying to comprehend.

Tracer, however, was not shocked. The Quintessons could see he hardly flinched at their demonstration. 'He's seen this before' they remembered. Greed took control.

"Some call it cowardly. We ask what does honour mean to the vanquished? What is gained when one clings to tradition while their enemies have no shame in cheating their way to victory. And oh, how shameful it would be to die by an opponent you never see, or hear. Death will surely take you unawares if you fail to prepare. So ready yourselves. These weapons have been hidden around the arena. We thought it good sport to make you both find them for yourselves. But we'll make this interesting…" The Quintessons hurled the rifle over and Razor caught it with satisfaction.

The Quintessons raised their hand to the audience. After taking in the anticipation they clenched it into a fist and drew it down sharply. No sooner had they done this, a wall immediately erupted out of the ground between the opposing combatants. "Begin!"

This wasn't a maze like before, more like an obstacle course. There were short sections of walls just taller than Tracer and others only tall enough to crouch behind. He could see small lookout towers around, and occasional pools of molten metal. Tracer darted from one wall to the next, trying to circle around where Razor might possibly be until he could find a weapon of his own to fight with.

Tracer was looking everywhere for one of the rifles. Every time he thought he found one he would get closer and see it was only a piece of scrap metal. He stumbled a few times trying to sprint as fast as he could.

"Hey, drone-program-thingy," he said aloud "can you redirect some energy to speed my legs up?"

Tracer could hear his inner drone speaking inside his mind. [Your enraged spark can increase all energy beyond anything I can do.]

"I'm busy trying not to panic right now. Believe me, if I knew how to switch, I'd do it right now. You need to do what you can until that happens."

[Optimizing… Please select systems for energy reallocation.]

"Any system, it doesn't matter!"

[Potential systems for energy reallocation: temperature control, fine motor coordination, vocal processors, facial recognition subroutines—]

"—Any one of those is fine, just do something fast!"

The Quintessons watched as their two victims wandered the arena floor. Razor frantically aimed his new weapon this way and that as he searched. Tracer was far from his pursuer but was trying to circle the arena to maybe get the drop on his opponent. Suspicion couldn't help but stare at this protoform the other judges detested so much. He hardly appeared to be the savage killer they proclaimed him to be. There was something else he noticed, as he watched the protoform. "Tracer appears to be… talking to someone."

Pride scoffed, "And what does that matter to us, Suspicion?"

"Because he appears to be shouting… orders."

Greed objected, "That's impossible, his transmitter was removed."

"See for yourself."

"He's definitely communicating with someone," Faith said as they retreated into the command centre inside their balcony. He motioned to Lodex "scan all frequencies for any encrypted transmissions."

Lodex sat at a com station and adjusted dials as he listened closely. "There's a lot of interference. There's a faint signal, but something appears to be jamming it. Wait I can hear voices. It's the enforcers. They're saying they're awaiting new orders after being told to return to the surface!"

Greed took control and leaned close to the com station. "Who gave the order to return to the surface?"

A faint voice came in through the static "[Rrrrch] heard the order from Deacon."

"Deacon! Deacon, come in." ordered Malice. After several moments, the order was repeated and a reply came in.

"This is Deacon."

Pride slid into position, restraining himself to maintain his calm. "We demand to know why you ordered the squads to return to the surface!"

"These tunnels don't [Rrrrch] anywhere! None [Rrrrch] teams have found anything."

Pride turned away from the transmitter as he held his temper. "Ugh, stupid drones," he looked at Lodex, "we don't care how long it takes. We know the protoforms are hiding down there."

Lodex picked up the transmitter, "Deacon, you're orders are to seek and destroy rogue protoforms. If you find nothing you are ordered to dig until you do."

The response was sounding more distorted. Some noise was drowning out his words. "I told you, the [Rrrcch] has been done! We've already found every[Rrrcchh] is to find. I'll bring all these rocks and scrap [Rrrccch] myself if you like."

Greed took control and grabbed the transmitter. "I've heard enough of this. Unit-Deacon, we are the Quintessons: your masters and creators. Here are your new orders: tear open your chest and remove your primary and secondary power cells immediately!"

"[Rrrrch] them? That's not possible." The voice sounded unusually shocked for a drone.

"We assure you, it absolutely is. Comply!"

Through the static and noise the voice in the receiver chuckled. "Allow me to elaborate; [Rrrrch] not possible because 'Deacon' is lying [Rrrrch] a thousand pieces at the bottom of a hole, you bulbous, cantankerous [Rrrrch] bucket!"

Faces shifted in and out of the centre slot as each Quintesson raced to be the one to respond. Amidst the chaos, Faith moved his tentacle around the centre slot and walled all his comrades off from claiming it. He slid in and let his companions take in the silence: a reminder to never let emotions guide their actions.

Faith spoke calmly into the transmitter. "A protoform… we should have known. You've sealed your doom with those words."

"I don't think so. See, [Rrrch] you've got enforcers there at your arena, and lots [Rrrrch] in the tunnels. Meanwhile nobody's here guarding your energon reserves. Enjoy the show, I hope [Rrrrch] worth watching the rest of your city crumble around you!"

"Idiots. Idiots all!" exclaimed Faith, "They're after the generators! Get every unit topside and re-enforce all primary city-sectors!"

"What about Tracer?"

"We're not going to make the same mistake twice. We will personally remain here with a small detachment. The Colosseum is packed full of protoforms: this is the greater prize, once all the protoforms here have been eliminated the resistance will limp on fighting their losing war. A hundred armed enforcers will be enough. Lockshot, take the rest and fortify the nearest generator. Destroy any protofoms that come near!

"Come on!" Tracer yelled, his legs felt heavier as he heaved himself from one foot to the other. He will surely be found by Razor. He could be pursuing him now, or waiting in ambush around the next corner.

[Drone is making all necessary adjustments to optimize sprinting function.]

"I don't need all adjustments, I just need something now!"

[Optimizing...]

"Argh!" at that moment, Tracer passed another wall section. He scanned the terrain, looking for a weapon or somewhere to take cover. Instead he saw Razor only a short distance away looking right back at him. Razor wasted no time to bring the barrel of his weapon up and fire. The projectile cracked into the wall section just barely missing Tracer's head. Tracer stumbled back and scrambled to run in the opposite direction. He had no chance to make a stand without a weapon.

Tracer darted away from the cover of the wall. He couldn't take one second to turn and see if Razor was chasing him. He knew he just had to run.

"Running away from danger?" shouted Pride to the Colosseum's spectators. "Tracer is far from the hunter you thought he was. He's no warrior. He is the prey. He is nothing more than a scavenger! There truly is nothing here worth admiring!"

Tracer heard a projectile pass over him, striking the arena wall. He flinched from the explosion and continued. Just as he heard a second shot behind him, his legs stopped feeling heavy. His balance shifted, and the ground beneath him seemed to lift him up as he bolted forward faster than he'd ever ran before.

[Sprint-function: optimized.] Said his satisfied inner-drone.

"This feels amazing!" Tracer ran from one barrier to another, cresting hills, clearing the small pools of molten metal to the sound of gasps from the audience. He wasn't sure if they were hoping to see him fall, or to see him survive. The more he tried to listen the fainter their voices became.

[Drone is helping us ignore their cheers. That protoform must focus if we are to survive.]

Tracer felt he must have put a lot of distance between him and Razor. Enforcers move slower in general, and holding that large weapon would slow him down even more. Tracer looked around for one of the rifles. He saw Razor in the distance, but he was too far to take aim. The enforcers seemed desperate to close the distance on his prey, his frustration was growing.

Tracer saw one rifle lying on the ground just past the next barrier. This one was definitely not scrap, he could see glowing vents and polished surfaces. It had to be one of the rifles. Tracer ran and heard a string of shots fired from somewhere high. The first shot ricocheted past Tracer's shin as he dove to dodge two more that sailed over him. His hands clasped the weapon and rolled before righting himself, propping the weapon against his shoulder and staring down the sight. The contours of the weapon felt natural. It even seemed to heat up and glow bright as he gripped the stock.

Razor clambered up the obstacles as he kept his own weapon trained on Tracer. Tracer felt overwhelmed as he tried to keep his crosshairs fixed on his opponent. "Divert energy to targeting systems, I'll try and get us a clearer shot."

[Optimizing: in-progress.]

Razor was trying to hold the high ground. Platforms converged at a large tower in the centre of the arena. Razor dashed behind columns while Tracer circled around the perimeter, trying to find a path to the base of the tower that had plenty of cover.

Tracer was watching the tower for a sign of Razor when the wall next to his head exploded. Melted metal sprayed out, and he closed his optics to protect them. A second later another blast erupted from farther back and Tracer opened his optics again to see Razor hanging out of an opening in the tower. Tracer heard a voice in his mind. [Targeting systems optimized.] Tracer immediately felt the enhanced senses. He watch Razor fire wildly, the laser shots seemed slowed. The enforcer was losing control as he fired over and over landing hits so far Tracer couldn't hear where they struck. Razor was only holding his weapon with one hand, his other was holding to the structure to keep him from falling out.

Tracer braced the weapon against his shoulder and raised the muzzle up. He stared down the long sight and watched Razor cringe as jets of smoke poured out from his overheating weapon. Tracer lined the sight up and pulled the trigger.

Tracer watched as his projectile arched up and over and landed directly in the centre of Razor's chest. A bright light exploded out, brighter than ten sunrises—more than any other weapon he'd seen. When the flash was gone, Tracer watched the tower collapse. The crowd cheered, but something felt wrong.

'That was too easy…'

Tracer ejected the magazine and looked at the projectiles: containers of small, pulsating orbs of light.

'Sparks!' Tracer felt dizzy with guilt. The world around him spiralled away as he came to grips with what he'd just done.

The Quintessons all howled with laughter. "Marvelous! Well done. Tracer is victorious! Superior weapons will always decide the victor in any battle, even if the cost of victory comes with the sacrifice of and innocent spark! As you can see, sparks are indeed versatile, they can expire gradually under strict control, or abruptly with great devastation. Tracer has not only demonstrated a new purpose for all sparks, but also that it can be done without guilt or hesitation by one who chooses their own life over that of others!"

"You lying piece of rust!" Tracer threw the weapon out of sheer rage for what they had made him do.

"And with his enemy vanquished, he casts away his weapon! A petty murderer doesn't value weapons when there's nothing left to kill. We've seen his kind before, haven't we? Why the Colosseum has hundreds of combatants just like him. There truly is nothing rare, or extraordinary about Tracer. Nothing of value. Shall we let him live to fight another day?"

The audience stirred and a slow howl began to rise in response.

"Shall we restore his freedom and let him work beside the likes of you?"

The audience grew louder, and the word "No." seemed to come from all around him.

"Or should we be merciful and take his worthless spark right now?" With that the audience seemed to cheer. Shouts of excitement rang through the air as the Quintessons tried to contain their excitement. They whispered something to a drone beside them, and several enforcers rushed into the arena and surrounded Tracer. Tracer's instincts told him to run, but there was nowhere to run to. He wanted to wake from this nightmare, but it was real.

"The masses have spoken! Tracer, for having not even the humility to face your sentence with dignity, you will be put down like the animal you so are! Take him to the centre of the arena and quarter him then tear out his spark and let all be witness to his demise." With that, the crowd howled in glee.

Greed smiled. "Ah, I love the sound of the masses cheering for their own defeat." He then picked up the transmitter from the com and couldn't help but chuckle as he spoke. "As for you, it seems you failed to seize our energon reserves after all. Don't be so hard on yourself, you were never a threat to us anyway. It brings us great pleasure to know that you won't be able to make good on a single threat. There is nothing you can do we can't stop. Your resistance ends tonight!"

"Did I say [rrrrch] reserves? I'm sorry, I meant your ship!"

"What—What—What?"

"It's a pity, you worked so hard on these engines."

"They were never after the energon! It was all a diversion! Get every enforcer back to the ship!"

"Every enforcer, your honour?" Lodex stammered.

Malice picked up the drone by the neck and grabbed his arms. He pulled both arms from their sockets and tossed the dismembered drone to the com station. "Never question our orders!" Malice turned again to the receiver and snarled into it. "As for you, there is no escape from this. The entire city is closing in on you as we speak! There is no route out of that fortress we don't know. Your doom comes for you."

"Doom isn't so bad, if this tub actually flies I win a bet!"

"Wait!" shouted Suspicion. "Look!"

The other Quitnessons looked across the Colosseum. Amongst the anxious protoforms was one protoform sitting perfectly still—and holding a transmitter!

"He's... here? Why?" The protofom stared right back at them as they held the receiver.

"Aw shucks, you spoiled the surprise!" the protoform held a round piece of metal high over his head.

"What's that he's holding?"

"It's nothing, just the top half of a head."

The thundering snap of broken metal filled the Colosseum. At the centre of the arena, a gap between the plates in the arena floor exploded upward, sending shards of metal across the fighting pit. A second mess of metal followed it: a jumbled collection of arms and legs around a shoddily rebuilt enforcer. The mass of parts scrambled to move in a single direction, each limb frantically clambering this way and that. Somewhere at the centre of the tangled mass, two optics were locked onto the rather small object in Chiron's outstretched hand. Amidst the gasping and bewilderment that took hold of the spectators the monstrosity in the arena screamed in its own strange blend of disbelief and joy "MY THINKY-CAAAAAAAP!"

The Quintessons screamed to the drones around them "Destroy that monstrosity! Get every enforcer in the city back here! Take no prisoners. Kill the protoforms, all of them! Wipe them out for good!"

Amidst the chaos in the arena Tracer wrestled free from the last enforcer holding him and ran until he found a rifle lying on the ground. He looked it over, and saw that is was powered by an internal battery—not sparks. He aimed it at the Quitnessons and fired. The beam deflected off the armour of their spherical cranium, blasting away part of the structure behind them as they stood on their balcony. The Quintesson turned immediately to him, poised to leap down into the fighting pit.

Tracer leaped over obstacles in the arena. Always keeping his weapon shouldered and his target in sight. He aimed for the columns supporting the balcony. 'Based on heat tolerance'—Lug had said. They brought the wrong parts one day so long ago. This one's for Lug! He fired at the central column, watched it melt clean through. The balcony drooped and the Quintessons scrambled to cling to the structure behind them.

Tracer focused on their hands and tentacles. They may not be damaged, but focused heat might weaken their smaller mechanics. He counted each shot as he moved from one target to the next. "This one's for Lodex! This one's for me! And this one's for me! For me. Me. Me. ME!"

The balcony gave way and collapsed into the arena. The Quintessons' grip lessened from each of Tracer's shots and finally slipped as they tumbled down onto the collapsing metal. Enforcers were leaping into the arena to stop him and Tracer charged at each one using the firearm like a club. His senses were heightened, and he felt the glow from his spark reach out to every part of his body. The rage... In a reflection on an enforcer's armour, he saw the glow of his spark engulf him like flames. Seven enforcers closed in on him. Tracer bashed each one to pieces until he stood alone, looking down at the remains of the balcony.

The dust began to settle. Tentacles waved frantically through the cloud as the glow of their enraged eyes pierced through. Tracer watched as the Quintesson body emerged. Malice was in control. Their massive body thrashed as they searched for anything nearby to rip apart. Faces turned to shock as their hands ran across the ridge of a deep gash in their spherical cranium. The metal had peeled away from their fall, revealing for all to see what lay hidden underneath.

Tracer's concentration broke as he tried to come to terms with what he saw.

What Tracer had expected might have been computer components. Processors, wires, memory drives. Tracer might have expected something like sparks. Some form of energy that was harnessed to create sentience. He might have expected any of those, because he'd seen them before and they made sense to him. He didn't know what he was looking at inside that sphere. He couldn't find the words to describe what he saw, and that alone left him frozen with fear.

Inside the massive spherical head were clear containers. They were like vats. Each one was wrapped in tubes pumping fluids in and out. The vats appeared to contain masses of… gel. Something soft and wet; some structure of folds and coils lumped into protrusions. Each wrinkled mass faintly resembled a head, only detached and partially decayed.

Tracer didn't feel a hand grip his shoulder. "Ready to get out of there, Tracer?"

Tracer couldn't bring himself to look at the protoform standing behind him. "Go away. Just leave me."

"I'd love to, friend, I really would. But there's a bunch of bots back at the base that want you safe and sound."

"I don't want to be anyone's prize anymore. This ends here!"

"Hundreds of protoforms might be dying right now! Do you want it all to be for nothing?"

"I didn't ask for any rescue!"

"Well you got one! I didn't stand up for Lug when you told me to, but I'm here for you right now. So what's it gunna be?"

Tracer suddenly looked around to take in where he was. He's been through hell, all he wanted to do was leave this day behind him and never relive it again. He turned to see who he might be trusting his life to. "The platform operator, I remember you now. You know a way out?"

Chiron looked around as he led Tracer to the centre of the arena. "Maybe, but I don't think you're going to like it."

Behind them, the Quintessons emerged from the rubble. They focused on the enormous body of limbs as it finished attaching the top of his head.

"Rubbish." The Quintessons sneered.

"The creators…" Chuckled Rubbish.

"You will obey us. We made you!"

"Aye. You made me… once."