Chapter Seven:
"Are you sure?" He asked the clerical droid who floated behind its computer screen in the Cybertropolis library. The lens it used for an eye moved left to right humming as it did so. When it spoke, its mechanised voice echoed throughout the hall. "There does not appear to be a Transformer named Suteneko Prime in the archives.
Perhaps you were mistaken?" It asked. Cheetor wasn't sure what his dream had meant or who the hell Suteneko Prime was but he had to try to find out. To curb his curiosity if nothing else. But it bugged him. His dream had been so real. The corn felt real. The air that blew across his face, the sounds of nature that filtered through his aural receptors, the vision of the Primes: all of it was real to him. They were telling him something. But what? What was this evil they spoke of? What should he allow it access to? None of it made sense, yet he knew if he searched hard enough, he would find the answers. He turned to the clerical droid. "Thank you anyway", he uttered and turned for the exit. The droid watched as he left with its one eye.
* * *
DO NOT FORGET WHO YOU ARE.
The words had repeated themselves in her head so often now, yet she still had no clue as to their meaning. She had seen the same dreams for weeks, their impact lessening each time. Again, she saw Unicron in the skies above Cybertron. And again, the image, no matter how terrifying it was to her at the beginning: had become an almost serene one. Calm. And this is what worried her. What was the point to all of this? She walked, as she always had in this routine, through the streets of a city recognisable to her only through old data-logs at the Archives Library. She was in Iacon: the last, great Autobot city on Cybertron. And it was pristine. She had always thought of this as unusual as Iacon now sat in the middle of a contaminated zone outside of the Cybertropolis Hub. It had always been her belief that life could not exist there: the result of an age old war between the Autobots and Decepticons. But here, in her dream, Black Arachnia walked down the promenade that led to the Autobot senate building. And this was when she noticed the children.
They were transformers: fresh from the assembly line she guessed. They played in the streets, pushing each other, laughing. She smiled. And it was then; she noticed the device in her hand. A small, palm sized box with a switch of some kind. She looked it over, twisting it in her hand and-
She flipped the switch. And time stood still. It was eerie to her. The sounds of the street so prominent before had now died, the children were seemingly frozen: their small, metallic bodies stuck in mid-game. And now, a bright light emanating from the senate building caught her eye. It grew with intensity before-
She covered her eyes but the sounds guided the Maximal through the devastation around her. She knew, without looking that the building was now gone. The children were gone. The city was gone. But the screaming remained. And it was coming from Cybertron itself.
* * *
Cheetor walked slowly through the caverns under the surface of the planet, his blue eyes piercing the dark passage ahead. He never liked walking here but Rattrap had insisted on cutting power to the entrances of the orchard. He had become increasingly paranoid after the reformat, claiming that the power used here was traceable and that that had been enough of a threat to them to execute the movement. Cheetor could see his reasoning, but so far, no-one had attempted any act against of terrorism against them. Destroying the orchard as far as he could see, would be of no great aide to a faction's cause. Life would carry on, the orchard would grow back. He reached the apex of the tunnel and the sight before him, stunned the Maximal:
The orchard was almost unrecognisable to him. The trees were limp, their branches hanging low to the ground: the lush, rich foliage that once sat upon them, now formed a layer of brown sludge that spread across the ground. Something was wrong that was easy to see, so why was he not told? Had he been tied up too long with the senate and their hearings to notice the gradual demise of this place?
"Rattrap?" He called out. Silence answered him. "Nightscream? Botannica?" The words bounced from the walls, repeating themselves over and over. Cheetor ventured further into the orchard, past the sickly growths that used to be trees. His feet squelched with each step he took across the rotting foliage. And in the corner of his eye, he caught movement. Cheetor swung round, leapt from the sludge and in an instant had reached the other side of the trees. And was met with:
"She went offline this morning." Nightscream said solemnly. He sat crouched before something Cheetor couldn't see. The Maximal didn't move as he walked forward, the low lighting of the place illuminating what he didn't want to see:
Botannica laid, her head to the side: her eyes, lifeless. He stared, not knowing what to think, what to say. Nightscream looked up to him; a glaze had formed over his eyes. It seemed like an eternity had passed before either of them spoke. "How?" was the only word Cheetor could muster. When Nightscream answered, his voice crackled with an electronic sorrow, "The orchard's been dying for weeks." He began, "They were linked. I never thought." His words trailed off and he turned away from Cheetor. "Does Rattrap know?" He asked, knowing he would get no verbal response to the question. Nightscream nodded a slow shake of his head. Cheetor placed his hand upon the young Maximal's shoulder. "Where is he?" He asked quietly again not expecting a verbal response. Nightscream merely pointed to the tunnel that formed an exit to the opposite side of the orchard. Cheetor released his grip and began to move away from the scene. "Thank you" he said solemnly and neared the tunnel.
* * *
"I don't understand why you have to leave," he said, not meaning for his voice to be as loud as it had been. He watched as she moved about the apartment, packing various items into a small bag. Silverbolt was thrown into confusion the minute he had returned from his nocturnal flight to find her visibly shaken and a new agenda.
"I have to go." She had told him simply. And to her that seemed like a perfectly decent reason, but he had wanted more and this annoyed her. The dreams had changed. They weren't simply nightmares anymore but a calling. Black Arachnia couldn't explain this to him. He saw the world in black and white. He chose to ignore the shades of grey between. And she couldn't do that. She was being called: that she had figured out. But by who? By Unicron? Though she saw him in her dreams, he had never been a threat or a prominent factor in the terror. But she knew that he was involved somehow. Something bad was going to happen. Or had happened. And she knew that the only place to find answers would be to go to the one place she always saw:
"Iacon." She told Silverbolt, who stared at her in disbelief. "But that sector's forbidden, you know that. The Maximal elders. . ." She looked to him as she threw the bag across her slender shoulders. "Are fools. I have to go there and that's that. My dreams, they all call me there. I will find answers." She reached out to stroke his face but he moved, dodging her hand. She didn't want to leave him this way but she couldn't take him along. She had to do this alone. It had called for her. Not him. And as much as it pained her to do so, she must. "I'll be back." She told him as she opened the apartment door. Silverbolt watched as she stepped through, slowly closing the door behind her. And he was alone with the only the muffled sounds of the streets below for company.
* * *
As he approached, the destruction seemed more obvious here. The place looked like it had seen a war. And that concerned him. Cheetor entered the apartment slowly, careful of the shrapnel that lay upon the floor. "Rattrap?" he called out. Standing still now, he listened. But was met with nothing but silence. Until:
"I couldn't save her." He heard from the next room. Cheetor slowly entered, viewing the chaos of the place. Rattrap sat in the middle of the floor, computer terminals around him, smouldering. Their cases bent, their screens shattered: images flickering upon them, casting Rattrap in a haze of static. He looked up at the approaching Maximal. "She wouldn't tell me what was wrong with her. I knew the orchard. . ." he stopped: taking in a deep breath. "I couldn't even save the orchard." Cheetor moved one of the terminals from his way and sat beside his friend. "I saw Nightscream." He said. "He said this had been happening for weeks. Why wasn't I told?" Rattrap stared at him. "What could you have done? You've been too tied up with your senate to give a rat's ass what happens here." Cheetor said quietly, "I'm sorry." Rattrap stood, his wheels squealing against the debris underneath him. "Well, it's too late now. She's dead, so you can spend as much time as you like with your precious senate. Go, Cheetor. Get out." And with that, he moved off and within an instant he was out of Cheetor's sight; leaving the Maximal alone.
"Are you sure?" He asked the clerical droid who floated behind its computer screen in the Cybertropolis library. The lens it used for an eye moved left to right humming as it did so. When it spoke, its mechanised voice echoed throughout the hall. "There does not appear to be a Transformer named Suteneko Prime in the archives.
Perhaps you were mistaken?" It asked. Cheetor wasn't sure what his dream had meant or who the hell Suteneko Prime was but he had to try to find out. To curb his curiosity if nothing else. But it bugged him. His dream had been so real. The corn felt real. The air that blew across his face, the sounds of nature that filtered through his aural receptors, the vision of the Primes: all of it was real to him. They were telling him something. But what? What was this evil they spoke of? What should he allow it access to? None of it made sense, yet he knew if he searched hard enough, he would find the answers. He turned to the clerical droid. "Thank you anyway", he uttered and turned for the exit. The droid watched as he left with its one eye.
* * *
DO NOT FORGET WHO YOU ARE.
The words had repeated themselves in her head so often now, yet she still had no clue as to their meaning. She had seen the same dreams for weeks, their impact lessening each time. Again, she saw Unicron in the skies above Cybertron. And again, the image, no matter how terrifying it was to her at the beginning: had become an almost serene one. Calm. And this is what worried her. What was the point to all of this? She walked, as she always had in this routine, through the streets of a city recognisable to her only through old data-logs at the Archives Library. She was in Iacon: the last, great Autobot city on Cybertron. And it was pristine. She had always thought of this as unusual as Iacon now sat in the middle of a contaminated zone outside of the Cybertropolis Hub. It had always been her belief that life could not exist there: the result of an age old war between the Autobots and Decepticons. But here, in her dream, Black Arachnia walked down the promenade that led to the Autobot senate building. And this was when she noticed the children.
They were transformers: fresh from the assembly line she guessed. They played in the streets, pushing each other, laughing. She smiled. And it was then; she noticed the device in her hand. A small, palm sized box with a switch of some kind. She looked it over, twisting it in her hand and-
She flipped the switch. And time stood still. It was eerie to her. The sounds of the street so prominent before had now died, the children were seemingly frozen: their small, metallic bodies stuck in mid-game. And now, a bright light emanating from the senate building caught her eye. It grew with intensity before-
She covered her eyes but the sounds guided the Maximal through the devastation around her. She knew, without looking that the building was now gone. The children were gone. The city was gone. But the screaming remained. And it was coming from Cybertron itself.
* * *
Cheetor walked slowly through the caverns under the surface of the planet, his blue eyes piercing the dark passage ahead. He never liked walking here but Rattrap had insisted on cutting power to the entrances of the orchard. He had become increasingly paranoid after the reformat, claiming that the power used here was traceable and that that had been enough of a threat to them to execute the movement. Cheetor could see his reasoning, but so far, no-one had attempted any act against of terrorism against them. Destroying the orchard as far as he could see, would be of no great aide to a faction's cause. Life would carry on, the orchard would grow back. He reached the apex of the tunnel and the sight before him, stunned the Maximal:
The orchard was almost unrecognisable to him. The trees were limp, their branches hanging low to the ground: the lush, rich foliage that once sat upon them, now formed a layer of brown sludge that spread across the ground. Something was wrong that was easy to see, so why was he not told? Had he been tied up too long with the senate and their hearings to notice the gradual demise of this place?
"Rattrap?" He called out. Silence answered him. "Nightscream? Botannica?" The words bounced from the walls, repeating themselves over and over. Cheetor ventured further into the orchard, past the sickly growths that used to be trees. His feet squelched with each step he took across the rotting foliage. And in the corner of his eye, he caught movement. Cheetor swung round, leapt from the sludge and in an instant had reached the other side of the trees. And was met with:
"She went offline this morning." Nightscream said solemnly. He sat crouched before something Cheetor couldn't see. The Maximal didn't move as he walked forward, the low lighting of the place illuminating what he didn't want to see:
Botannica laid, her head to the side: her eyes, lifeless. He stared, not knowing what to think, what to say. Nightscream looked up to him; a glaze had formed over his eyes. It seemed like an eternity had passed before either of them spoke. "How?" was the only word Cheetor could muster. When Nightscream answered, his voice crackled with an electronic sorrow, "The orchard's been dying for weeks." He began, "They were linked. I never thought." His words trailed off and he turned away from Cheetor. "Does Rattrap know?" He asked, knowing he would get no verbal response to the question. Nightscream nodded a slow shake of his head. Cheetor placed his hand upon the young Maximal's shoulder. "Where is he?" He asked quietly again not expecting a verbal response. Nightscream merely pointed to the tunnel that formed an exit to the opposite side of the orchard. Cheetor released his grip and began to move away from the scene. "Thank you" he said solemnly and neared the tunnel.
* * *
"I don't understand why you have to leave," he said, not meaning for his voice to be as loud as it had been. He watched as she moved about the apartment, packing various items into a small bag. Silverbolt was thrown into confusion the minute he had returned from his nocturnal flight to find her visibly shaken and a new agenda.
"I have to go." She had told him simply. And to her that seemed like a perfectly decent reason, but he had wanted more and this annoyed her. The dreams had changed. They weren't simply nightmares anymore but a calling. Black Arachnia couldn't explain this to him. He saw the world in black and white. He chose to ignore the shades of grey between. And she couldn't do that. She was being called: that she had figured out. But by who? By Unicron? Though she saw him in her dreams, he had never been a threat or a prominent factor in the terror. But she knew that he was involved somehow. Something bad was going to happen. Or had happened. And she knew that the only place to find answers would be to go to the one place she always saw:
"Iacon." She told Silverbolt, who stared at her in disbelief. "But that sector's forbidden, you know that. The Maximal elders. . ." She looked to him as she threw the bag across her slender shoulders. "Are fools. I have to go there and that's that. My dreams, they all call me there. I will find answers." She reached out to stroke his face but he moved, dodging her hand. She didn't want to leave him this way but she couldn't take him along. She had to do this alone. It had called for her. Not him. And as much as it pained her to do so, she must. "I'll be back." She told him as she opened the apartment door. Silverbolt watched as she stepped through, slowly closing the door behind her. And he was alone with the only the muffled sounds of the streets below for company.
* * *
As he approached, the destruction seemed more obvious here. The place looked like it had seen a war. And that concerned him. Cheetor entered the apartment slowly, careful of the shrapnel that lay upon the floor. "Rattrap?" he called out. Standing still now, he listened. But was met with nothing but silence. Until:
"I couldn't save her." He heard from the next room. Cheetor slowly entered, viewing the chaos of the place. Rattrap sat in the middle of the floor, computer terminals around him, smouldering. Their cases bent, their screens shattered: images flickering upon them, casting Rattrap in a haze of static. He looked up at the approaching Maximal. "She wouldn't tell me what was wrong with her. I knew the orchard. . ." he stopped: taking in a deep breath. "I couldn't even save the orchard." Cheetor moved one of the terminals from his way and sat beside his friend. "I saw Nightscream." He said. "He said this had been happening for weeks. Why wasn't I told?" Rattrap stared at him. "What could you have done? You've been too tied up with your senate to give a rat's ass what happens here." Cheetor said quietly, "I'm sorry." Rattrap stood, his wheels squealing against the debris underneath him. "Well, it's too late now. She's dead, so you can spend as much time as you like with your precious senate. Go, Cheetor. Get out." And with that, he moved off and within an instant he was out of Cheetor's sight; leaving the Maximal alone.