Chapter 52

"Back again"

Freeport Azal. Still massive, still a cesspit. It hung in space as a flickering, half-dead hunk of fractured steel and rusted hull. A crawling nest of blackmarket dealings and other illicit activities. It really hadn't changed. Minerva led them to one of the busier hangars, cutting the queue across a line of old colony-crafted cargo shuttles. A blare of insults emanated across every local radio channel behind them; Minerva and the rest ignored it. They swooped inside and landed, and Hawkmoon was quick to follow. This time they had no Aurorus to crowd around, to protect. This time they were all to remain together - and armed to the teeth.

"You could stay back," Minerva said to Hawkmoon. "I could have Pharma and Glintracer stay with you."

Hawkmoon shook her helm. Her hood was up, her battlemask deployed and her optics narrowed. "No, I need this."

"You 'need' this?"

"You're going for her, aren't you?" Hawkmoon inquired. "Blackarachnia?"

Minerva paused, then dipped her helm. "Yes."

"Why?"

"She claimed Swiftsear offered her an entire parsec for giving you a heading." Minerva watched her closely. "If Swiftsear is dead, then we're to settle this ourselves; Vos granted me the authority to deal with her in the event he was confirmed KIA. What about you? What's your interest?"

"She sent us to the Cyst Stars," Hawkmoon explained. "Across the Divide. I need to know if it was just happenstance or if there was an ulterior reason."

"I've heard she isn't the forthcoming type."

"Mm, I don't sure. I might know a couple to make her squeal," Hawkmoon muttered.

Minerva's optics flashed. For a moment Hawkmoon feared that she'd gone too far, that she was about to be forced to remain in the hangar and wait, but then the other Seeker seemingly allowed it to slide. "Very well," Minerva said in a cold, emotionless voice. "But I lead."

Hawkmoon held out her servos in mock surrender. "It's your show. I won't steal it from you."

A flicker crossed Minerva's faceplates. The ghost of a smile rose to the surface - then fell away again. "Good." Minerva turned on her heel. "Be ready for anything, but don't you dare open fire without my say-so."

"You got it," Hawkmoon murmured. She could feel the other Seekers looking at her, scrutinising her; their EM-fields flashed with suspicion, distrust, anxiousness. They weren't expecting her to behave. In all honesty, Hawkmoon didn't think it was going to last either. Her patience with everything was beginning to get ridiculously short-fused. She followed close behind, careful not to step on Minerva's heels, and forced her spark to slow down, to stop racing. It only met with some half-results.

Then...

Something.

Hawkmoon glanced over her shoulder, back the way of where the hangar fed out into open space, cordoned off via an incorporeal atmospheric shield. A couple of the Seekers behind her gave her blank looks, but she wasn't focusing on them. Nor the other ships waiting their turn to land. She felt... just... something. A flicker of static. Interference on the edge of her scanners.

"Hawkmoon," Minerva said.

Hawkmoon turned back ahead. "Right."

It wasn't right to say that nothing had changed in Freeport Azal. Perhaps not on the exterior, but inside? There must have been a shift in power since Hawkmoon had last been, because the place was busier. Still filthy, still populated by haggard- looking symbiotes and sleazsy mecha, but there were more people. An almost bustling atmosphere. Business, it seemed, was booming.

::Conglomerate's been busy,:: one of the Seekers mused. Flatline, Hawkmoon thought his designation was. ::We might be too late for a clean operation, Minerva. They've probably tapped that parsec already.::

::We'll say our part, no more,:: Minerva replied. ::So long as they know the Institution's customs still apply, even here.::

::For us, not them. These ground-pounders aren't likely to respect our laws.::

::All the same, that's the extent of what we can do.::

Flatline huffed. ::Fine, fine.::

::Not a word. Not until I'm through. Is that clear?::

There was a chorus of affirmatives.

::Clear,:: Hawkmoon said softly.

They arrived at a familiar set of doors, guarded by a band of colourful mecha with spikes soldered onto their pauldrons. Their frames were pocked with the fading markings of neo-Cybertronian glyphs, indecipherable to Hawkmoon's own language files. Their leader, a broad-shouldered mech with a power-hammer leaning against his shoulder, stood up and raised his chin at their approach.

"Birdies?" he said, idly scratching his cheek. "Now there's a sight. Do you have an appointment?"

"We're here to speak with your merchant lord," Minerva said stiffly. "Blackarachnia. She'll want to hear what we have to say."

"So... no appointment? You gotta log it, birdy. Say, why don't you stick around a while? Might take an orn or two to process, but we could make the time fly." The mech leered down at her, a hungry look in his optics. "Wouldn't need but one of ya. Leaves the rest for my boys here. How's that sound?"

Minerva bristled, her wings rising up. "You dare-"

The door behind the mech slid open. A five-eyed wolf-like creature loped through. Blackarachnia's pet. "Bulldoze," it growled. The lead mech stiffened and turned around. "The mistress knows they are here. She will see them now. Let them pass."

"O-of course." Bulldoze nervously inched away from the wolf and the door. His cronies were quick to follow. "We's only meant-"

"Quiet," the wolf ordered. Its optics roved over the Seekers present, Hawkmoon included. She was pretty sure its gaze lingered on her. "Seekers. Come along."

It turned and padded back inside. Minerva shot Bulldoze a haughty glare before following suit. Hawkmoon filed in with the rest. The hallway beyond was narrow, unlit and nondescript, but the chamber it fed into was massive, sprawling and grand, manned by a dozen partially-plated guards with dull optics. Someone had renovated since the last time; the throne at the end was still a mountain of fused scrap beneath a web of partially electrified steel wire, but its spine presently boasted a number more stakes upon which were mounted the heads of various mecha. Nestled in the centre of it, still slender and delicate and carrying that edge of demi-Insecticon ferocity, was Blackarachnia.

And she hadn't changed a bit.

She fluttered her optics at them, feigning an air of shy bashfulness, and opened her arms wide in welcome. "Seekers!" she exclaimed. "Seekers of Vos! Here! For me! Come in, come in. Thank you for fetching them, Alphanus. Oh Seekers - I hope those brutes at the door didn't bother you."

Minerva ignored the last remark. "You are Blackarachnia?"

"Yes, oh yes." The spiderling leaned forward. "I don't know you, though. You are of Vos, yes? Of Cybertron?"

"I am. Minerva, formation-leader of the Vosian Exploratory Institution."

A formation-leader. Minerva. Hawkmoon withheld the urge to glance at her; things really had changed back home. Last she checked, Minerva had enrolled only half a vorn ahead of her - studying to graduate with a dual doctorate and status as Energon Seeker.

Blackarachnia's smile widened, lips pulling back over silver teeth - fangs like needles. "A formation-leader? Oh, to what do I deserve this delightful pleasure?"

"It is to my understanding you reached an agreement with Energon Seeker Swiftsear four vorns ago."

"Oh, that?" Blackarachnia flicked a servo, as if to banish the very idea of it. "That's old history, sweetness. I'd all but forgotten about it."

"Vos hasn't."

"Of course not. Vos never forgets, does it?" Blackarachnia snorted and sat back. "Not its enemies, not its friends - few as they are - and certainly not its moments of shame."

"Seeker Swiftsear offered yourself and your merchant guild territory under Cybertronian law - parsec 26J26B. Is this correct?"

Blackarachnia smiled coyly. "It could be."

Minerva vented quietly. "If it is," she said curtly, "then Vos is altering the terms of this agreement as a result of the quality of the information surrendered in return."

"But my dear, I've already begun mining the worlds there. They're already in my clutches." Blackarachnia tilted her helm. "Are you telling me Vos is-"

A device in the corner of the room chimed. Blackarachnia's smile froze. "Alphanus," she sang, her voice an octave too shrill.

The wolf padded over and grabbed what looked to be a heavy datapad in his jaws. He carried it over to the web and Blackarachnia took it from him, waving him away. "One moment, please," she said tightly - and pressed a single digit against the screen. Noise emanated from the device; soft noise, white noise, a background full of buzzing and humming and so much more. And the sound of metal clanking, creaking. Something spoke. A single word.

"Jezha," it said, speaking no language Hawkmoon knew.

Blackarachnia's smile melted away. "No," she said, very quickly growing angry. "I've already told you no. That is my final answer." She switched the datapad off and set it aside. "Now then. Seekers. Where were... Ah yes! My kingdom. I can't exactly pull out, my dear. That would be terribly expensive. So, unless Vos intends on reimbursing me for the cost of moving so much labour and equipment..."

"Would that persuade you to surrender custody of parsec 26J27B?"

"Mm, I'll have to think on it," Blackarachnia said flippantly, offering Minerva a helpless shrug. "It would be sorely missed. Plenty of wasted profit and dropped orders, you see."

"I'm sure," Minerva drawled. "Of course, the reimbursement costs will have to come out of the fine exacted for mining the parsec of tech and resources."

"Excuse me?"

"After all, the territory was claimed under false pretences."

Blackarachnia's smile returned - and this time it was sharp, it was cold, it was insidious. "Hm. It's a tragedy, what befell those Seekers," she sneered, "but I don't see how that relates to me."

"You were offered the parsec in return for information."

"Yes, you've said as much."

"And that information led to the death of Swiftsear, his trine and the trines under his command. Almost his entire formation."

"Ah, I see." Blackarachnia nodded sagely. "But last I recalled, they were missing. Not dead. And that makes a world of difference, Seeker."

"We've recently uncovered confirmation as to Swiftsear's passing - which occurred as a result of the faulty advice you gave him. There was a witness, both to the agreement made here between you both and to the formation's untimely end."

"Who?"

::I'll give you this chance,:: Minerva said.

Hawkmoon stepped forward. "I."

Blackarachnia's red optics fell on her, narrowed suspiciously. "Seeker. But you aren't... Oh. Oooooh, now I see. You're..." Her optics widened with surprise. "You. I know you. As I live and function... the arena Seeker. You survived."

Hawkmoon tipped her helm. "Yeah."

Blackarachnia leaned forward. "Then your formation is dead, then? Your trine?" She cocked her helm to the head, feigning an air of innocent curiosity. "How did that feel?"

"Don't react," Augur told her.

Hawkmoon didn't react, despite the broiling fury welling up inside her chest. "They've passed," she confirmed.

Blackarachnia huffed and sat back. "So this is my fault?"

"The Cyst Stars weren't safe."

"Nowhere is safe, my pretty. Nowhere at all. Particularly not for delicate little birds like yourself. It was an unfortunate tragedy, nothing more. My spark goes out to... what was his name? Your formation-leader. And yourself, of course. I always hear that trine-loss hurts." She smiled nastily.

"Why the Cyst Stars?" Hawkmoon questioned.

"What?"

"Why the Cyst Stars? Why point us that way?"

Blackarachnia rolled her optics. "I don't see why I have to explain this to you."

"Vos is about to revoke your claim to your oh so profitable parsec. It might benefit you to cooperate," Hawkmoon reminded her.

The look Blackarachnia shot her was not pleased. "Because it was far away," she said, waving a servo. "Because beyond the berth, you Seekers bore me. For creatures who fly so high, you always prove so, so very shallow. And because you were so desperate! How could I deny you? The Cyst Stars have energon, I know that much. You must have discovered the same."

Hawkmoon glowered. "We found more than energon."

"And I'm sure it's all very interesting, but it's all par for the course in your business, Seeker. Or are you even that anymore?" Blackarachnia's optics roved over her. "Look at you. Those savages really have bedecked you in dead weight. You're almost more Krenshan than Vosian. Can you still fly with all this excess kibble?"

Hawkmoon heard thumping in her audioreceptors and thought it rage - until it struck her that she couldn't hear the roar of her heartbeat anymore ever again, that her spark only thrummed and buzzed and she realized the noise was coming down the hall, growing louder and louder.

"What are they doing out there?" Blackarachnia growled. She pointed to a pair of guards. "You two. Inform them I am not pleased, that they are to cease that racket at once."

The guards bowed their heads and left.

"Now - Seekers." Blackarachnia turned back to them. "I fail to see where my fault lies in all this. I'm afraid I'm going to have to refute your request. The parsec is mine. Your Institution, your princes, Pit, even your High Council is free to present me with a counteroffer. Then we can talk. Then we can deal. But, as it stands, you have displeased me and unfortunately that means our time together must be cut short; please vacate my premises or-"

There was another crash from down the hallway. Louder. Clearer. Punctuated by the brief whistling of plasma rounds firing and the shrill scream of metal tearing. Then, abruptly, it stopped. A shadow fell over the end of the hallway and began advancing, each pedefall a dull clank.

"Bulldoze!" Blackarachnia snapped. She rose up on her spider-leg appendages, high above the rest of them. "What is the meaning of this?! What is the matter..." she trailed off.

Hawkmoon watched as Bulldoze stepped out of the dark and into the chamber proper. He was missing half an arm, a jaw and most of his chest's frontal plating. She could see the glow of his sparkchamber, winking at her behind a mass of torn live wires. His hammer was nowhere to be seen.

"Boss," he slurred through a dying vocabulator - and then something plunged through his helm, the tips of superheated claws emerging from behind his faceplates. Bulldoze tensed, shuddered, and tipped forwards with a decisive bang. Behind him stood... not a Cybertronian, but some mechanical horror - a creature of skeletal frame, with incredibly long arms and legs and a sharpened, gnarled ribcage. Its head was a silver skull, featureless but for two sunken eyesockets from which burned a pair of orange optics in a manner reminiscent of a Drezhari corpse-construct. A pair of white holographic wings, angelic in appearance, crested from its back.

"What are you... But I told you..." Blackarachnia stuttered, then collected herself, her visage contorting with fury. "KILL IT!"

All at once the room erupted into violence and gunfire. Hawkmoon ducked, but the guards were firing past her, not at her. Weapons were drawn on the end of the other Seekers; plasma cannons were primed, slug-shooters were thumbed back, blades were brandished. They aimed everywhere, but they didn't know where to fire. Hawkmoon reckoned the newcomer - the Drezhari creature - was a good bet, but it was already moving, faster than a mech or femme ever could without red energon, and it grabbed the nearest guard by the neck. Superheated fingers fished through plate, caught around a spinal strut and the construct tore the mech apart. The other guards focused their fire - and every single one of their shots pounded uselessly against a kinetic-based energy shield, identical to the kind used by the aristo-tech on Penchant.

::We're leaving!:: Minerva broadcasted. She darted to the side of the room, the others close behind, but Hawkmoon lingered.

::Wait,:: she urged them. Hawkmoon looked around. The newcomer occupied the exit to the hallway and she did not like how far a reach it had with those gangly arms. ::Throne, get close to the throne.::

::Hawkmoon, come-::

::Quick! There should be another exit. We used it last time.::

By some miracle Minerva reluctantly heeded her, because the Seekers retreated towards Blackarachnia's side, watching the fight unfold. The new machine had killed another guard, but two of them had managed to grab hold of its forearms, keeping its claws at bay. They forced it down to its knees and it went... almost voluntarily. Blackarachnia stepped down from her throne, one servo transforming into a riot cannon, and she leveled it with the thing's skull.

"I said no," she snarled, spitting acid. "I refused you. You should have respected that."

She fired. Twice. The first shot left cracks across the machines overshield, the second broke it entirely, and the third took its head. Its body twitched. It did not die. Lights flickered across its chest and all around its ribcage, arrayed in a V-shape around its steel collarbones, and they each resembled eyes at full glow. Transmat flickered around the wings and they became all but solid, strange ethereal shapes that emitted real smoke, and the machine's very frame began to glow with near-molten heat. The guards holding it shrieked and tried to pull away, both of them, but the Drezhari caught them and crushed their helms to slag.

Blackarachnia recoiled violently. "No," she whispered, eyes widening in horror as it stood up, "no, please, I-"

And the thing spoke. "This was not an offer," it enunciated - and the voice did not match the machine. It was husky, but equally smooth; it was deep, yet melodious; it was dark, yet sensuous. It was beautiful, that voice. Neither male nor female but utterly enthralling. A headless angelic thing. Haunting. Terrible. And frighteningly familiar.

Hawkmoon remembered seeing something with that same shape during her visions in the reliquary. After petitioning to see what Rampage had done. She remembered-

A mech, standing before the spear-bearer, the un-molten Tenerjiin, the woman of black porcelain and obsidian mask and midnight shawl - and behind them a predatory tree, an angel, an insect of every moult, a living horror bathed in misted red, a blind creature thirsting for the life that crawled beneath young stars.

-and realised her deepest fears were well-founded - but ultimately pointed in the wrong direction. Her spark felt cold. Her energon felt sluggish. She suddenly felt like an animal caught in a trap, having wasted too much time looking out for predators to watch where she walked.

Blackarachnia staggered back, terrified, and she screamed, "KILL IT! KILL IT!"

The rest of her guards leapt into action as she jumped for her throne, grabbing the datapad there and pressing a button. An energized curtain cut halfway through the room, partitioning them from the creature and those unfortunates stuck on the other side. The angel-machine turned to violence, ignoring the guards' gunfire in favour of tearing those closest to molten pieces. Hawkmoon's own weapons onlined themselves seemingly of their own volition.

She wanted to fight.

She needed to run.

"Go," Augur urged her, unusually serious and... was that fear on his end too? What was the world even coming to? "Hawkmoon, get out of here!"

"Get me out of here!" Blackarachnia shrieked, almost as if she could hear him. She was looking at them, her and Minerva and the other Seekers, moving towards them. "I'll pay any price, Seekers; just get me out!" Another splay of a digit against that datapad opened a wall behind them. The same exit. Hawkmoon felt some relief for that.

Minerva didn't even wait to think it through. "We're going, now," she snapped. No one argued with her. They quickly made their escape. Hawkmoon lingered for but a moment, watching as the Drezhari activated a blade of pure Solar energy along its femur and split apart another mech with it. Only two guards were left by then, firing on it with all their might. It just raised itself up to its full height and looked through the barrier. Right back at her. Its eye-patterns blinked in a quizzical manner, offset by the flames steadily coating its frame.

Hawkmoon backpedaled into the escape tunnel and raised it a one-fingered salute.

The tunnel led out into the Freeport's 'streets'. Hawkmoon caught up with the others, cut past them and shoved open the old rusted doors into the first grand marketplace. It wasn't any prettier a sight than Blackarachnia's throne room; the station had, seemingly spontaneously, become an active warzone. Drezhari constructs skittered and lunged at armed mecha, tearing at the gangsters and ne'er-do-wells bearing the insignias of the Freeport's Conglomerate, actively tearing them to pieces with cold mechanical brutality. It was a savage kind of clash, mostly close-quarters, and while the mecha were giving as good as they got the Drezhari had numbers.

::What the frag is happening?:: one of the other Seekers cried out.

::Acquiestical's grabbing new ground,:: Minerva muttered. ::Advancing on the Stratocracy. Freeport's legally a no man's land.::

::What about us?:: Pharma pressed. ::Are they going to-::

::I don't think they care,:: Hawkmoon cut in. ::It was the same on Penchant. They have an objective in mind and they'll cut down anyone in their way.::

The Seekers fell silent.

"Two levels below," Blackarachnia whispered frantically. She skittered ahead, then thought better of it and waited for them. Her EM-field was abuzz with sheer terror, an existential dread. As if she knew - and that only hammered in her suspicions that there was more at work than simple happenstance. Hawkmoon closed in on her, quiet and the like, keeping her own electromagnetic field tightly wound around her, and she sifted through the other Seekers to ensure Blackarachnia remained in reach.

All she needed was a distraction.

Minerva caught sight of her, looked between her and the demi-Insecticon and frowned suspiciously. ::Moon...: she warned.

Hawkmoon ignored her.

They moved as one, then, as the firefight in the street abated by a fraction and seemed to move further along. There were bodies left in its wake, Cybertronian and otherwise, and the floor was slick with spilled Energon. Blackarachnia took them to a stairwell, hurried them down, and from there they advanced down another narrow corridor. Hawkmoon's radar was itself crackling with increased interference with every step. It was almost cause for a processor-ache, the sensation was so strong.

At last, though, at last they reached a smaller hangar than the one they'd arrived in. Blackarachnia opened the way, dialing in a passcode, and she scurried over to the lone shuttle - some slim needle-shaped thing packing a couple of pristine cannons, fit to run any blockade. The blast shields folded open ahead of them, prompted by their arrival, and open space glared in at them, too bright with the flashing signs of a rout outside - knife-like frigates cutting into the lines of shuttles and fighters buzzing around the Freeport.

Then the whole station shifted, lights flickering out - and the floor below them gave way.

Blackarachnia fell ahead of them, caught onto the wall and leapt to the side as the shuttle plummeted after her. The other Seekers caught themselves and hovered, then shot for space at Minerva's barked demand, ::Go!::

Hawkmoon loitered. She looked down at Blackarachnia, struggling to climb back up out of the sudden crater, and spotted further below the swarming shapes of Drezhari squids rising up, having cut through the support beams beneath the hangar. There were dozens of them. Hundreds. Shrieking like buzzsaws and ripping the very station apart right down to its foundations.

::Hawkmoon!:: Minerva snapped.

Hawkmoon dove. She reached Blackarachnia, set herself upon the demi-Insecticon and caught her by the neck, lifting her up into the air. Blackarachnia's spiked spider-like appendages slashed for her on pure instinct and instead met with the barrier of her Taishibethi shield. Hawkmoon tossed her up, back onto the hangar, and saw Minerva swooping down for them. Blackarachnia snagged the edge of the crater, one of her servos reverting into a riot cannon, but when she caught a glimpse of what surged past Hawkmoon she stumbled back, optics bright with fright.

Hawkmoon transformed - not into a fold-fighter, but into her draconic form. She held out her wings to keep her hanging in place, looked down and began charging up the new weapons configuration built into her jaws. She charged and charged and charged - until it primed with a low ding and she loosed a stream of crackling, roaring Arc energy into the oncoming squid swarm like an overcharged Chaos Reach. Pure chaos ensued; it wasn't even a case of the Drezhari drones being melted, they simply disintegrated beneath the sheer power of the beam, dissipating into a lingering blue-ish mist. It didn't stop there either. The beam cut through the swarm, cut into the station below and scored a fathomless deep pit into the Freeport's bedrock. Hawkmoon didn't abate until every squid was destroyed outright or at least rendered inert, then landed back down beside Blackarachnia. And Minerva.

Her jaws ached. Her new weapons system overheated and Hawkmoon allowed the excess heat to vent out through the impromptu nostrils at the end of her draconic skull, taking the shape of smoke rings. She looked around, took stock and said, "Any other plans?"

Minerva stared. Blackarachnia's shock, however, lasted only a few precious moments before her helm swung around and she realized her shuttle had been lost with the squids. "I can't... get me out, get me out, get me out! I, I... I'll pay you," she stammered, "anything you'd like! Seeker-"

Hawkmoon closed in on her. Blackarachnia retreated a single step, her extra limbs curling over her shoulders in a threatening fashion. "Why the Cyst Stars?" Hawkmoon demanded.

"What?!" Blackarachnia squawked, her optics bulging.

"Hawkmoon-" Minerva started to say, trying to sound stern but failing miserably.

"This won't take but a moment," Hawkmoon said.

Blackarachnia panicked. "We don't have a moment to spare! It's coming, we have to leave n-"

"The angel," Hawkmoon snapped, transforming back into bipedal mode. Blackarachnia froze like a deer in the headlights. "Was it involved?!"

"What?"

"With the Cyst Stars! Why did you send us to the fragging Cyst Stars?!"

"I didn't-... I don't know!" Blackarachnia cried out. "Please, please please, we have to-"

The ceiling above them, like most of the floor, began to creak as something pressed down on it. More squids. She could hear them cutting into it. Hawkmoon lurched back, then transformed. "Augur!" she snapped, already splaying out her servos - intending on enlisting his aid in opening a channel through the Ley Lines. Something the Drezhari wouldn't account for.

Augur appeared by her side. "No," he said, hollow and quiet. He was looking behind her, at the crater. "Not with this one."

Minerva shouted something and raised a firearm, Blackarachnia shouted something, Hawkmoon twirled around - but something fast and strong barreled past, throwing her out of the way. Her shield took most of the impact's landing, allowing her to seamlessly regain her footing and activate her shoulder cannon. She fired on the headless construct from before, pounded helplessly against its shield shot after shot, and ran towards it just as it reached Blackarachnia. It caught her neck in one clawed hand and held her close, staring into her optics with the eyes at the top of its ribcage.

"No," Blackarachnia whimpered, helplessly slamming her servos and appendages against its arm, "please."

The creature merely snarled and plunged its other servo right through her chest, grabbing hold of something and ripping it out - brandishing her dying spark high into the air.

Minerva took flight, to make her escape. That was fine. That was better than fine; Hawkmoon could have done without having to worry about the others. Just made things simpler. She drew her Nullblade, flicked the panels out and activated its Void charge. "That," she said in a low tone, "was a mistake."

::Hawkmoon!::

The Drezhari turned to her, its body still in the throes of immolation, and it assumed a graceful straight-backed stance that ill-fit its gangly frame, bowing slightly at the waist. "Ah, the vandal," it said - again in that voice, emanating from speakers within the thing's wicked ribcage. "Desecrator. Little angel-farse."

Hawkmoon closed the distance with a single roar of her thrusters, jamming her blade towards the machine's sternum, but it twisted away, claws scraping along the edge of her shield. And oh, but her shield did not like that. Not one bit. Extreme heat didn't mix well with a Solar-based barrier. She darted away, giving herself room to consider the implications, and raised her Nullblade - posing it as a physical obstacle between them. She spotted Minerva still in the air behind the Drezhari, watching, but she forced the thought from her mind.

"You have angered the Subjugator," the assassin-construct elegantly articulated. "You have broken something irreparable. He speaks highly of you in his own special way, though if you had been there to hear them his words may have struck you as unflattering. He only knows how to commend others through insult and ridicule, savage beast that he is."

"Who the hell are you?" Hawkmoon coldly demanded.

"He charged us with watching for your passing," the machine continued, ignoring her question. It lashed at her; Hawkmoon batted its roving claws away with her sword, holding it firm in both servos. "You are oddly subtle, for such a bright star. We had almost lost you. Strange that you found your way back to us first. I will not complain."

"You're no Hive," Hawkmoon decided. "You're no witch."

"Nothing so primitive," the machine laughed gloriously - and it charged her, two long steps closing the distance between them. One clawed hand shot for her chest as it had for Blackarachnia before her, but Hawkmoon dashed it aside with her sword. The other swept wide, coming in at an arc for her helm. She ducked for that and would have still perished if not for her overshield, against which the Drezhari's talons deflected off. Her inbuilt shield generator pinged on her HUD; its integrity was falling low. She needed to keep the machine off her for a few moments longer to recharge it, at least, or risk it imploding on her. Hawkmoon didn't like how quickly she'd been put on the defensive. Not in the least.

"Kill it now!" Augur urged.

Then, to her shock, the machine shifted towards him - and tutted. "She is preoccupied, little vulpine. Don't you know not to bother a fencer at work?" The Drezhari turned back to her. "Continue at your own pace, dear star."

Hawkmoon kept the surprise from rising to her faceplates and filed it away in favour of reviewing her options. What did it matter if it could see Augur? Probably a lot in the long run, but that was neither here nor there for the present. She couldn't close in on it like the aristo-tech on Penchant; though it had the same shield around it, it was too dangerous to get close to something so hot. That really just left her Nullblade. Hawkmoon fancied herself decent in bladecraft, but the Drezhari really was much too quick for her liking on that count.

But hey, the pause had allowed her shields to replenish. At least she had that going for her.

"This isn't you," she said, if for nothing else than to buy herself some time. "This body. It isn't you."

"Azal is filthy," the machine groused. "I would never diminish myself so."

"You're the Hellsong, then?" Hawkmoon pressed. She began circling around the machine. It kept facing her, kept moving with her. "The Drezhari Helioplite."

The machine stopped and tilted at the waist; it was a strange, uncomfortable looking motion. "Do you really believe that?"

"... No."

"What then? Guess, star. Go on. I know you have it in you."

"You're the great angel," Hawkmoon said. "Their Sybarite."

"I am Greshar," the machine clarified - and the fires around it grew ever more intensive, more fierce, as if its name were extra kindling. Through the flames Hawkmoon imagined she could spot a shadow of something tall, something truly inhuman behind the construct. Headless, winged, dark as midnight and silhouetted in a wreath of golden luster, holding in one ossified hand a bladed sceptre. "Of the Graces, few as we are. And you..." The Drezhari straightened up. "Oh I see you, o dragon-eater. Second of that name. Xhafi may kill you for it. Yes, he surely will. He hates to share, he does. His demonic kind never play well with others."

Hawkmoon stepped forward, feinting a downward strike, but as the machine moved to lunge for her flank she pulled her Nullblade across in a horizontal slash - its edge passing harmlessly through the Drezhari's shield and, with a stroke of luck, catching one of its knees as it attempted to backtrack. The construct whined in a voice separate from the angel's own. It stumbled, its previous grace forgotten, and it stared at her.

And began laughing. Wickedly.

"They have stacked you atop a tower of gifts," it said. "They believe it will enable you to stand tall forever, high above the clouds, crown jewel of the Sky. This is not true. We will break you down to your foundations, we will topple your power and only then will we pick through your carcass to see if there is anything worth taking. Your stubborn ignorance is a grand insult; I see you, Lightkeeper. I see your fervour."

"Shut up." Hawkmoon stepped close and caught the machine's arm as it tried to ward her away, chopping it off somewhere above the elbow. With its mobility hampered it became nothing more than a sitting duck. The Drezhari tripped back, down an arm and leg, and it lashed at her with the remaining set of claws. Hawkmoon dipped away and cut the hand and it came at her helm with a brutal backstroke.

"Keeper of false Emperors," it cheered leeringly. "Where is your old sleepy sun now? Where is your white orb, your huckster muse, your builder of crumbling houses? Why does it not aid you? You need it, little star. You do. I see it. I see him - his heart of hearts, squirrelled away in your own chest like a guilty treasure."

Hawkmoon brought her Nullblade down on the Drezhari, right down the middle - bisecting its ribcage and the system of eyes crowning the stump where once its head had been.

"I-I-Iiiiii seee," the machine warbled, vocabulator failing. "Co-o-o-ome to us. To m-m-m-e-e-eee. I will sh-sho-w-w you h-how to de-estro-"

She dragged her Nullblade down until the tip of it bit into the floor, splitting the construct in two. Both pieces peeled apart and hit the ground with two individual thumps.

"There," Hawkmoon shouted. "How's that for fervour, you fucking prick?!"

The Drezhari didn't reply. It was dead. Its wings faded and the fire doused, cut off from whatever otherworldly source was feeding it.

"Hawkmoon," Augur said. Then again, because she didn't immediately reply. "Hawkmoon. We need to leave."

"Yeah... yeah." Hawkmoon looked up.

Minerva stared right back. She hadn't moved. Not once. Not for the duration of the fight.

"Scrap," Hawkmoon muttered.

They hightailed it out. No chance to grab fuel. No time to check for other survivors. There were Drezhari frigates closing in - and behind them, battleships cruising in from the edge of the local star system, mere blips of phantom mass on the edge of Hawkmoon's long-range scanners. They were surrounding the station, flanking it. Ships flitted past them, but the Drezhari didn't seem to care. They only had eyes for Freeport Azal. It was almost disconcerting; they darted for the station with a special sort of tunnel vision, so utterly swept up in their task.

But they were out. They were free. They were flying out into the deep black and charting a new course back to Cybertron. It was going to be close, Hawkmoon knew. The EM-fields of the other Seekers were rife with shock and anxiousness in equal return, and she reckoned it wasn't entirely because of what they'd seen. ::Deactivate extraneous systems,:: Minerva ordered of the lot of them, reinforcing Hawkmoon's suspicions. She did as was requested, for her own sake at least, and fell in line behind the bulk of the formation. Another Seeker, Pharma, fell back to fly alongside her a joor or so afterwards.

::Are... are you alright?:: she warily asked, field brimming with reluctant concern.

Hawkmoon rolled leisurely, twisting her wings around. ::Peachy,:: she curtly replied.

::What?::

::I'm fine.::

::If you've taken injury-::

::I haven't,:: Hawkmoon interrupted, a tad harsher than she intended. ::I'm fine.::

Pharma paused. ::Minerva just told me you fought that cluster-construct.::

::Yep.::

::And you weren't hurt?::

::I have defense systems enough,:: Hawkmoon told her. ::It didn't touch me.::

::But you dismantled it.::

::Yeah.::

Pharma seemed to hesitate. ::They never said you were a war-frame,:: she murmured.

Hawkmoon shifted. ::Hm?::

::You're a soldier. You're outfitted for battle. The Institute said you were an Energon scout, nothing more.::

::Sorry to disappoint,:: Hawkmoon coolly said.

::I wasn't...:: Pharma trailed off and soared ahead, linking back up with Minerva.

The rest of the trip was uneventful. If the others spoke to each other, they were using channels Hawkmoon wasn't privy to. She didn't know if she was alright with that - whether she would have preferred noise over silence. In the end she figured it was a case of being uncomfortable or being annoyed. As daunting as it was that Minerva wasn't firing question after question, it was a relief to just... not have to hear someone else's demands. Over time Hawkmoon began to settle into the wordless routine, started to grow content with it. The dread was still there, but she felt calmer about it, having come to the conclusion that whatever happened next, there wasn't much she could do about it. Acceptance for the gallows at the end of the road.

Then their flight came to a close and they dipped out of warp on the edge of Cybertron's orbital path.

What a planet.

What a world.

Silver and bronze, round, circled by two moons and utterly, completely devoid of all the hallmarks that usually described a living world. Oceans? No. Water? Not in any great quantity. Green life? Not even a little. A clean atmosphere? Goodness no! But it broke that mold regardless of every condition that said otherwise; it was rife with life. Just not the biological kind. It was an artificial miracle and it gladdened her to see it whole and alive, as opposed to the global pyre that Taishibethi Prime had become, but it made her spark drop all the same.

There were people down there.

People she knew.

People she was sure were going to be furious with her - and rightly so.

People who would sentence her for daring to live where others died.

That wasn't something she needed. That wasn't something she could handle. Hawkmoon had built infrastructure around the lies that defined her new life, a kind of scaffolding to lend support to every deception, but it was flimsy and fragile and it would only take a stiff breeze to knock it all down. It trembled as they dove. It shook and threatened to collapse as they descended on the world below - to the spired city-state she remembered from brighter days. Vos was on the other side of Cybertron from the sun, but it glittered all the same. The off-cycle's there were often as bright and glorious as day, and that hadn't changed in the time since her departure. Her anxiety only built up the closer they got, and it must have shown in her EM field because two of the formation's Seekers flanked her on either side, cutting her off from any possible escape.

As if.

She knew better than to chance a run - not with so many optics on her. If there was a time to flee, it would come later, when the excitement died down. If it died down. Hawkmoon wasn't sold on that quite yet.

They passed through the edge of the stratosphere and found rain. It pounded against their frames, each droplet hissing as they impacted with their heated plate, and Hawkmoon had to thank her lucky stars that her paint was of the insulative, protective kind - resistant to the high levels of acid in the water. It was like Venus, really. Every storm wanted to hurt you. It was almost fitting; really set the stage for what she was all but certain was to come. Through the thick blanket of clouds they flew, piercing the veil and emerging on the other side. The Exploratory Institution lay below, massive and foreboding - and ultimately unchanged from when she'd last seen it.

To Hawkmoon's surprise, Minerva didn't lead them down towards it. No, she set a course some degrees east of the structure, further within the thick, bustling press of the city's interior. They dove and dove and dove - and levelled out once they'd reached the limits of what altitudes Vos's flight wardens allowed for returning Seekers. Common protocol had been to leave the upper atmosphere clear in case of heavier air traffic, but to keep those who'd flown far abroad separate from the civilians flying below in case of pathogens. A holdover from the Rust Plague, Hawkmoon had been told. The whole thing was vehemently enforced; she wouldn't have been surprised to learn if they were being tracked by ground-based sensor towers and external flight-recorders. It did little to assuage her already burgeoning discomfort.

Minerva took them towards another monumental structure, dark and tall and utterly monolithic - the seat of the glorious Prince of Vos and their many-layered courts. It rivaled the Institution for size and utterly dwarfed it in sheer atmosphere, so malevolent and gothic it was. Ground-to-air cannons locked onto them with electromagnetic targeting sensors, disturbing Hawkmoon's own EM field, and she could all but taste the tension.

::No wrong moves,:: Minerva warned. ::Landing pad Z119 has been cleared for us. Keep a hold on your combat protocols and follow my lead. No deviation. Do you hear me?::

A chorus of affirmatives echoed over the local channel. Hawkmoon didn't say a thing. She feared her voice would crack if she did. Minerva didn't give her any sign of having noticed, though. They flew in slow and steady, tightly-packed, and the landing pad, Hawkmoon observed, was located on one of the palace's upper floors. There were mecha there, standing at the ready. Some were armed. Some were not.

Contrail, she saw, was of the camp that were not.

Hawkmoon almost halted in place then and there. It was only through sheer resolve that she broke through her shock and kept going, kept pace with the others. She... didn't know how to feel. Terrified, mostly, but the fear didn't make sense. She saw him standing there and she hated that; she didn't want to look at him. Didn't want him to look at her. Hawkmoon respected him too much to stomach the thought of him knowing the truth - the full truth.

Minerva landed ahead of her. The others too, each of them transforming midair. Hawkmoon reluctantly followed suite; they'd demand it of her eventually. Less reason for them to tear at her plating this way. Her pedes hit solid ground. She straightened up, flicking her wings irritably as some of the rain caught in her briefly-exposed struts. Hawkmoon's owlish battlemask unfolded across her faceplates, leaving only her optics bare. She needed to invest in a visor. Something to keep people from seeing any of her. She wrung her servos together out of nervousness.

"You're back," Contrail said. Hawkmoon vented, pieced together a response - and then Minverva spoke over her, as it hadn't been aimed at her at all.

"We are," Minerva affirmed, following it up with a salute. She sounded tired. So tired.

"There was trouble?"

"Drezhari at the Freeport. They were negotiating with the local merchant lords. Negotiations fell through. The Freeport's theirs now."

Contrail hmmed. Another Seeker beside him, one of a number, stepped forward. Hawkmoon only noticed the unfamiliar femme out of the corner of her vision, averting her gaze as she was. "Is anyone hurt? Any damage?"

"... Not of my formation," Minerva said after a moment. "But... our VIP picked a fight with a Drezhari combat-platform."

"Of course she did," Contrail sighed. He approached them. "Hawkmoon. That's you, isn't it?"

Hawkmoon reluctantly turned her helm to face him. "Sir," she said quietly.

Contrail just... looked at her. His expression was blank, guarded. He hadn't much changed in the vorns that had passed; his bronze plate was undiminished and his tall helm-crest still stood proud, sharpened to a point. His optics were a soft sort of red and they regarded her coolly.

"Are you injured?" he asked her, softening his voice.

Hawkmoon vented. "... No."

"No?"

"No."

"What of your spark?" he questioned. When she frowned, he clarified; "You've come back alone. I distinctly recall that you hadn't left that way."

"It's... fine," Hawkmoon managed to say with some difficultly. "Nothing debilitating."

Contrail's faceplates flickered with... she didn't know how to describe it. A glimpse of frustration, maybe, but not quite that either. "Where's Swiftsear?" he asked. "Where's Vale and Sandstorm? Where are the others?"

Hawkmoon just shook her helm.

"I see." He looked over. "I imagine you have a story to tell." Contrail looked behind him, to one of the other Seekers waiting on standby - armed and watching the proceedings with care. "Gazzar. Bring her inside."

"Yes, senator," the other Seeker, a mech, took one step forward and gestured to the doors leading into the palace. "Ma'am. Will you follow me please? You must be tired."

Hawkmoon looked between him and Contrail with sudden confusion.

"C'mon," Gazzar said with a smile. It was a hesitant, wary thing - unenthused. "We'll get you out of this storm, get you warm and dry."

"That does sound enticing," Hawkmoon murmured. She filed past Minerva and Pharma and allowed Gazzar to lead her in. He stiffly walked ahead of her, glancing back at her again and again as if to assure himself that she was actually there - not some imaginary phantom. Hawkmoon herself peeked over her shoulder moments before the doors closed behind them. Contrail and Minerva stared back, the pair of them utterly unreadable.

They gave her a fine set of luxurious quarters fit for a Cybertronian queen. Hawkmoon's only gripe would have been the lack of windows - but she imagined that was on purpose. There were another pair of Seekers outside the suite and as the door shut behind her Hawkmoon imagined she almost heard it lock automatically.

"There's the berthroom," Gazzar said, indicating one of the many adjoining chambers. "You should be comfortable here."

"I see," Hawkmoon said quietly. They had made her a prisoner so quickly. "When will I be due a debriefing?"

Gazzar hesitated. "Soon," was all he said.

Hawkmoon nodded. "When..." she started to ask. "When did Contrail...?"

Gazzar must have guessed her meaning, because he said, "Almost two vorns ago."

"In the Vosian Council?"

"No," he said. "Iacon."

Hawkmoon shifted. "I see."

"I wonder if you do," Gazzar mused. He gave her an appraising look. "The frontier hasn't done you favours, femme. You've turned native."

Her wings flexed with affront. "I did what I had to."

"Then let's hope you keep that up." Gazzar stepped past her and stopped by the door. "Please don't try to leave. You'll pose a spot of bother enough on your best behaviour; it would be in everyone's best interests if you keep your head down and out of sight."

He left. The door clicked shut behind him - and the entire room was thrust into a painful silence. Hawkmoon didn't dare speak. She was all but certain the room had been bugged, that she was being monitored. She didn't even dare to reach out with her EM field and scan for hidden optics or audio buds lest it tip off those on the other side. Hawkmoon simply strolled over to the nearest chair and all but collapsed into it.

She was back.

On Cybertron.

The tension was going to eat her alive. Her spark was racing fast, too fast, and Augur over in the corner of the room was shooting her one of his infamous smug looks. She wanted to snap at him - and he knew she couldn't. Little bastard. She forced him from her mind and offlined her optics.

She was back on Cybertron.

She was being held in the palace of the Prince of Vos.

And Contrail was now a senator for the High Council of Iacon. She wondered if it had come of his own volition. It sounded like a powerful position to hold. It also sounded like a target had been painted onto his back; a hostage for Iacon to hold, maybe, in the event that Vos misbehaved. Was it Iacon who held jurisdiction over her detainment, then, or Vos itself? The world had changed - and Hawkmoon didn't know how to read it anymore. Too much time had passed. Time stolen from her by a dragon, again.

All the same-

No. No, she couldn't just demand an audience and expect them to believe her on the spot. There would be a debriefing. Seekers loved their protocol. They liked to do things right. They'd hear about it all then; Hawkmoon would tell them everything. She had to. Everything... save that which would incriminate her. She cycled through it in her head. There would be holes in her story. She would need to plug them in or otherwise gloss them over and hope it would go unnoticed.

It was all she could do.

They came for her two joors later. The guards opened the door, stepped inside and allowed another three Seekers to enter - with Contrail included in that group of newcomers. Hawkmoon made to stand, but Contrail raised a hand.

"No," he said. "Please, remain seated."

They arrayed themselves opposite her, from across the low... Hawkmoon hesitated to call it a coffee table, if only because there was probably some obscure Cybertronian term for it. It was a coffee table, though. Low and flat and prone to banging your calves against.

"How are you feeling?" Contrail asked. He was watching her carefully. They all were.

Hawkmoon contemplated an answer, then shrugged. "Pretty awful," she replied. "Pretty fragging awful."

"I understand you were attacked?"

Hawkmoon looked at him. Did he know about-

"At Freeport Azal," Contrail continued. A part of her felt relief. Not the Hive, then. They didn't yet know about them. Nor all that had come after. Well, maybe some of it; she doubted Minerva's report had been dull. "A Drezhari attack force almost caught you."

"Yeah."

"And you fought back?"

Hawkmoon paused. "I did."

"Against Minerva's desire to leave."

"I didn't realize she held any jurisdiction over me. Wasn't very vocal about it either."

"Hawkmoon-"

"What? I killed a fragger who tried to kill me." Hawkmoon lifted her chin. "That's the law of things out there."

"You're not out there anymore," Contrail cautiously pointed out. His guarded expression was starting to get on her nerves; she missed his exasperated smiles, his quiet approval. He'd only ever treated her like someone capable. Now? Now she was something dangerous to him. "You're back in Vos. You're safe."

"No," Hawkmoon said with a vent. "I'm not."

"Hawkmo-"

"The others were killed. We could play this slow and deliberate if you'd like, but you want answers - and I need you to listen. I'm sure you already figured as much, but the others were actively murdered. No accidents. They were butchered."

Contrail's optics sharpened. "Who killed them?" he asked slowly.

"Aliens." Hawkmoon grimaced. "A whole horde of them."

He looked her over. "As I understand it, you were with aliens when Minerva found you."

"The Eimin-Tin, yeah."

"And they took you in?"

"Wouldn't say that. Silk-serpents were just looking for some new amusement. It was plain chance that I crashed in on the scene."

"They've changed you," Contrail pointed out. "You don't look like the Seeker who left this place."

"No, probably not."

"... But we have to be sure." Contrail glanced at one of the other Seekers. The second mech nodded and circled around the table, closed in on her. Hawkmoon watched him.

"What's happening?" she asked. "What are you doing?"

"I need you to open a port," the mech said. He sat on the edge of the table in front of her, plucked a datapad out of internal storage and pulled a cable out of its side. "Cognito-check."

"What-"

"If there's a virus in your processor," Contrail cut in, "then we'll know."

"You think there could be someone in my helm," Hawkmoon surmised.

Contrail watched her. "It's harmless. Noninvasive."

"Sounds invasive enough."

"This isn't a cortical patch. If you refuse us, though, then that's where it'll lead to."

Hawkmoon suppressed a shiver. Her last patch had been a rough experience. "It's my mind," she protested. "My thoughts."

"And those will be left untouched. We're only checking for foreign malware," the mech in front of her assured her. "It's common protocol for returning Seekers."

"No, it's not. No one ever told me this befo-"

"Because you weren't to interact with alien powers," Contrail interrupted. "Those frontier worlds are vectors for mind-viruses. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

"Just do it," Augur yawned. He was sat beside her, perched on her chair's armrest. Hawkmoon grimaced and gingerly held out her arm, sliding open a panel on the understide of her wrist. The mech slotted the cable into the first port.

/external input: allow access?/
/!help!: administrative access denied/
/alert: guest access granted/
/alert: accessing software update 18-2-91-1/

"There," the mech said. He pulled the datapad's cable free and studied the device's screen. "Looks... hm."

"Is something the matter?" Contrail questioned. His optics never left her.

"There's additional software," the other Seeker reported. "Unorthodox software - wired up to transformation systems, combat protocols, weapons configurations, ocular sensors. It's cushioning the new physical modifications. There's some additional data too; changes to the vocabulator and memory drives. But... nothing malicious."

"Any Drezhari alterations?"

"None."

Contrail vented a sigh. "Good. Get out."

The mech got up and left without a word. The other Seeker, a femme, sent Contrail a questioning look - as if to ask may I?

To which he nodded.

The femme took the mech's place and inspected Hawkmoon's frame. "My designation's Voltage," she said. "I work for the Institution as an administrator for the medical wing."

"You're a doc," Hawkmoon said.

"I... yes, I trained a surgeon," Voltage admitted. "Are you hurt?"

Hawkmoon shook her helm. "I'm fine."

"There's no shame in-"

"I went through a full-frame repair job on Penchant. I'm fine."

"And who enacted those repairs?" Voltage pressed. "An organic?"

"An Insecticon," Hawkmoon responded.

Voltage frowned, blinked with surprise. "An Insecticon," she said, dumbfounded.

"Or a demi-Insecticon, rather. With some serpents on standby."

"Organics-"

"Their tech was Cybertronian-based," Hawkmoon interrupted. "They knew their craft."

"But-"

"You can leave us, Voltage," Contrail announced.

Voltage looked annoyed - at Hawkmoon mostly. "I'd still like to perform some scans."

"In time. Leave us." Contrail flicked a servo. Voltage ducked her helm and hastily hurried out. The guards filed after her. The door shut.

Leaving the two of them. Three if Augur counted. Contrail took to the seat opposite hers and fell into it. His wings rose up on end, trembling, and his optics dimmed. He levelled her with a resigned, exhausted glare.

"You've made a mess of things," he muttered.

Hawkmoon consciously leaned back. Better to present a relaxed air, she reasoned. It would give him less reason to see her as… well, an opponent. "Everyone always says that, everywhere I go. Swear I'm not even doing it on purpose."

"Yes you are," Augur snorted. She ignored him.

"If it had been anyone else who came to us..." Contrail trailed off.

Hawkmoon vented. "Everyone would've been happier for that, I know."

"I did mean to insinuate-" Contrail shook his helm. "You... complicate things, Hawkmoon."

"Because of my new plate?"

"Because of the femme you used to be." Contrail pinned her with an intense look. "There was an investigation, all hush-hush. Your designation is known to those who matter now."

"My... designation is Hawk-"

"Cloudbreaker."

Hawkmoon flinched. She tried not to, but it hit her all the same. "I... see." She glanced around. "I guess we're not being listened to?"

"We are."

"... Oh.

"But those audioreceptors are on our side."

"'Our' side?"

"Vos," Contrail told her. Something must have shown on Hawkmoon's faceplates, because Contrail was quick to follow it up with, "It's not public."

"But Vos knows," she pointed out. "The parts that count."

"Not just Vos alone," Contrail murmured.

Hawkmoon's optics widened. "You mean-"

"The investigation wasn't for your sake. You identity just fell in the crossfire"

"...The Vosian Weapons Division," Hawkmoon guessed.

Contrail inclined his helm.

"Scrap."

"They know. We know."

"So... I'm under arrest, then? For a life I didn't live?"

Contrail raised an optical ridge. "On what grounds?"

"What do you mean?"

"On what grounds would we arrest you?"

"Uh, corporate espionage? Theft? Sabotage?" Hawkmoon tilted her helm. "What else did Cloudbreaker do?"

"A great many unsavoury things, I suspect."

"But... you don't think I'm her."

"No," Contrail confirmed. "I don't."

"Why?"

"Because Voltage just told me your EM field is different. It corroborates with Minerva's reports."

"That... what, I'm a new person?"

"You're a source of processor-ache, that's what you are." Contrail paused. "You're alive. I hadn't dared to hope anyone would survive, but here you are."

"Here I am," Hawkmoon muttered. "And I'm the worst person to come back, apparently."

"Yes."

"'Least you don't mince words. Fragging Pit that's harsh."

"Oh I'm sorry, were you expecting us to drop everything and ask if you're okay?"

"I don't know, maybe."

"This is a mess, Hawkmoon. You've landed in one, you've made one, and you are one. I'm not equipped to face any of them." Contrail gathered himself. "The stakes are higher. Iacon is pressing down on us."

"And I complicate that?"

"Yes. Immeasurably."

"How so?"

Contrail's optics flashed a warning. "You should beware asking too many questions."

"How so?" Hawkmoon repeated.

"They know. We know. Cloudbreaker had a weapon hidden away. They want it."

"And Vos?"

"It should be destroyed," Contrail snapped. "The Weapons Division developed the very technology that would ensure others could clip our wings at every turn. They would have rendered us inconsequential or worse."

"So what's their stance?"

"Iacon."

Hawkmoon's frown deepened. "That's drastic."

"We suspect it was their intention all along - though the Conclave of Speakers and the Prince may have forced their hand."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Contrail studied her. "Because you're part of this mess. Inherently. Because you chose to come back alive."

"I never chose-"

"If it had been anyone else who survived, we would have had an advantage. But you? You're as dangerous to us, now, as you are to them."

"What kind of advantage?" Hawkmoon sat up. "Why me? Why are you telling me this? I've only just come back."

Contrail's gaze never once averted, not even when he stood back up. "Not yet," he said, this time more quietly. "We have to be sure."

"Of what?"

"Of you." He clasped his servos behind his back. "You're fresh from a fight and marred with alien steel. This does not help your case."

"My case for what?"

"Being useful." Contrail made to leave, then stopped himself. "On the morrow you will be expected to make a full report regarding how you spent the last four vorns. You will be held here. You will not be moved for a decaorn at least. An Institution-certified psychologist will be assigned to you. You will be evaluated. You will be interviewed. You will behave."

"And if I refuse?"

"There is no refusing. You will play along. You will tell the truth. You will describe to us everything that happened - with your formation, your trine, with the Krenshan beasts, with the Eimin-Tin serpents and with the Drezhari ghouls. Am I understood?"

Hawkmoon said nothing.

"I'll interpret that brooding silence as a yes sir," Contrail grunted.

"Not senator?"

"What?"

Hawkmoon narrowed her optics. "Wouldn't the correct phrase be yes senator?"

Contrail eyed her warily.

"Congratulations are in order, I suppose. Probably didn't help that you had to put a couple of quartexes aside to have me enlisted in the Seeker Elites, but hey, at least you got there. And the Iaconian High Council? That's some feat."

"We do what we must," Contrail said, his voice clipped and cold. "You'll learn that soon enough."

He left her, then.

Augur snuffled and nudged her arm with his snout. When she didn't react, he padded onto her lap and curled up like a cat. "You could have run."

They could have. They surely could have.

"We still can," he whispered.

They could. She had Augur with her. They could tear their way into the other-realm, along the Ley Lines, and then pop up somewhere else. Somewhere far away.

But she had no intention of living her life as a fugitive. Nor as prey. And there were other eyes on the lookout for her, other powers watching for her to make her next move - the fate of the Freeport was testament to that. There was no certainty that the other side of reality would be clear; there was no way of knowing whether or not there was a force waiting for her on the other end.

They could try to leave. They could. But she wouldn't.

Hawkmoon, despite her reservations, despite her anxiousness, despite the guilt and hurt and anger that weighed her down, imagined it was safer to wait things out. If Vos didn't kill her, if Iacon didn't flense her apart for the Aperture Scrambler, then... then she stood a good chance. At warning them of what was to come, maybe. At making a foolproof plan to keep on going, to keep on fighting. And she needed that time.

Because the eternal foe had already crossed the Brachian Divide. Just not in the shape she'd been expecting.

AN: Huge thanks to Nomad Blue!

This one took a while to crank out. Happy with it tho.