Nature of the Beast
One-Shot Series: First Star I See Tonight
Part 3: A Good Astronomer Is Hard To Find
ELITE GUARD CENTRAL COMMAND
IACON, INNER CITY
1000 HOURS
Ultra Magnus took a certain pleasure in breaking in some of the new recruits in the sparring ring. It helped him to get a sense of who to put under Smokescreen and Chromia's command and who would stay under his command. If they liked a certain leniency in command style and were prone to thinking far outside the box, he would send them on to Smokescreen. If they were more rule-abiding they were relegated to either Chromia or himself. He did have to admit that Smokescreen was showing himself to be a good leader, and that was probably due to his youth. Thanks to it, he tended to connect better than Ultra Magnus or Chromia with the younger mechs and femmes. He had an...energy to him as well, an ability to get everyone pumped up and ready to go. Chromia and he were a bit more toned down on the energy, their command style a little more strict. As such, they tended to deal with War veterans or older 'bots in general. That didn't mean the two recruit types never interacted though. He had seen enough of Optimus's command style before his...departure that allowing different styles to mingle was healthy for team dynamics. Sometimes you needed a rebel or ten in the ranks so you could see things a little differently. And sometimes you needed someone with their pedes on the ground to keep the enthusiasts from flying helmfirst into a building in their excitement.
But he was done with the sparring for now. Now, he sat at his desk in his office going over field reports from Smokescreen and Chromia. There were still Decepticon outliers in the cities who were causing trouble, unlike some of their better behaved kin. Optimus would consider such news a disappointment. Megatron's order for disbandment had not gone over well, even after over two decades. But that some were willing to live peacefully with their Autobot counterparts was a good sign. Some at least understood that war was not something to try and provoke – not after it had forced their planet into hibernation, nearly exterminated their entire species, and had brought Unicron within a fiber's width of murdering Cybertron for good.
By provoking war, you invited Unicron onto your front doorstep.
As for Megatron...no one was quite sure what had happened to him. He'd simply disbanded the Decepticons and flown off to parts unknown. Some thought him dead, but every so often there were rampant rumors of a great grey warrior – a "Grey Ghost" – out in the wilds who assisted in the recovery of Predacons and civilians who had gotten caught in acid storms, mobbed by scraplets, or even wounded by an attacker and left for dead. This warrior never asked for thanks or recompense – he simply vanished from the scene, silent as a specter. He'd tried to have Smokescreen investigate, but the grey warrior always left before the youth could get there. He and the other members of Team Prime knew it was Megatron. He knew this was Megatron's way of apologizing to his friend – his friend who had surrendered his life so everyone else could live again. The former warlord was paying back a lifetime of debt the only way he knew how.
His musings were interrupted by a knock on his door, a knock he recognized.
"Come in, Smokescreen."
The blue and yellow youth stepped in from the halls looking a little ill at ease and embarrassed.
"Ah, hi. I was, uh...I'm kind of here to ask a favor of you, sir. Technically two. I-Is that okay?"
Ultra Magnus eyed him curiously, a single brow ridge rising. "What sort of favors do you need from me?"
"Heh," Smokescreen rubbed his neck awkwardly. "That's...kind of a long story. I mean, I could paraphrase if you want."
"I'm not busy at the moment. Tell me what the problem is."
Piece by piece (and rather incoherently he noticed) the youth told his story. Then he voiced his first request to him.
"You need some time off in order to track down the owner of a data pad and return it to her?" Ultra Magnus repeated. There was a faint note of surprise in his voice. Yet more evidence of his maturity.
"Yeah. And that kinda brings me to favor number two – technically it's just a question, I guess: Do you know anyone in the CERF who might be able to lend me a hand in finding her? I got a hint from...somebody that she's one of the space geeks; only problem is I don't actually know anyone in that field. I was kinda hoping you might know someone. They might not know her, but maybe one of them could point me in the right direction."
The Commander considered for a moment in silence before speaking, "The CERF consists of hundreds of individuals, Smokescreen, and they associate with thousands of members of other research fields," he began slowly, earning a downcast look from him, "but as it so happens I think Perceptor might be of help to you. He's not part of the CERF himself, but he is a renowned physicist whose knowledge is often shared with them, and that intellect was put to good use during the War. He knows me. Tell him I sent you and I'm sure he would be willing to help with this. But how much time do you need to get this done?"
Smokescreen replied back a bit hesitantly, "Two or three solar cycles give or take? Four maybe, but that might be pushing it a little, I know. If I come up with zilch in that time I'll report back in and try again later. Might mean she's from another city and won't be back for a while. But I just...I dunno. Some instinct is telling me she's Iaconian. She's also a Predacon – Avioid – and speed-gifted, so hopefully that'll narrow down the search a bit. The only other speed-gifted Pred I know about is Cheetor over in Crystal City. So..." he shrugged.
"Very well. Leave granted. Three solar cycles starting tomorrow. I'll get Jazz to take your place during that time. If you fail to find anything I'll see if I can't arrange some daily time off for you every every other solar cycle or so. I can't have you off your post entirely for too long, but I can see you're determined to see this through."
"Thank you, sir."
He left.
Seven solar cycles later...
His systematic investigation had started out cautiously promising. But after the fourth or fifth lead Smokescreen had begun to grow frustrated. None of the CERF scientists he went to seemed to know her personally. Some had recognized the visual description, having caught fleeting glances of her, but they were unable to provide a name or an address. He'd kept going though, constantly telling himself that maybe, just maybe, the next mech or femme down the line might know the Avioid. But after the three solar cycle mark he was beginning to resign himself to failure. No one he went to had heard of her. It was almost like she didn't even exist. She didn't seem to have any friends, he had failed to locate her Guardian or Guardians (if she had even had any) and if she did he hadn't gotten to them yet, or they hadn't stepped forward.
'Or maybe she doesn't want to be found?' he mused.
Having seemingly failed on the social aspect of the hunt, his most recent lead on this bright day led him to the shop of one Sanskrit, one of the dozen or so professional monogrammers in the city. She dealt with personal identification marks, and the monogram definitely looked to be designed by the customer. Privately he did have to admit the little Avioid had very good artistic tastes. When she made a personal mark on her property she went all out. And that was a good thing. More elaborate marks tended to cost more than simple ones, and big payments were something business owners tended to remember. Perhaps he'd been going about this the wrong way, and a more indirect approach was needed. If the femme didn't have much of a social circle, then maybe he could try to backtrack his way to her through things like purchases.
He pulled off the main thoroughfare through Iacon's city center and into a smaller, less busy side street lined with businesses ranging from treat shops to automotive upgrade shops. The youth stopped at one whose sign proclaimed in flowing, bold cyberglyphs that it belonged to the artist in question. Nodding to himself, he stepped in through the door. There weren't many 'bots inside this early in the morning, and the traffic on the main thoroughfare into the downtown sectors had been no laughing matter.
Smokescreen quickly spotted a medium height femme of golden and red whose black accented frame was spotted with paint. He guessed this was the owner, and she seemed in the middle of carving a monogram into a thin piece of metal. Well, he assumed it was a monogram, but a closer inspection revealed she seemed to be merely testing the focus of the laser point. The metal was covered in random cyberglyphs and symbols both modern and ancient artistically intertwined that created a mesmerizing pattern, reminding him of the incredible, intricate henna designs of Earth.
"Sanskrit?" he hazarded.
The golden and red femme's helm snapped up, revealing a pair of vibrant ruby optics. When she spoke, her voice sounded distinctly Vizanthan, "Lieutenant Smokescreen? Oh my! A thousand apologies. I did not see you enter."
"No biggie. I just got a little problem I hope you might help me with. Problem of identity."
She looked at him expectantly. Reaching into a subspace pocket, he brought out the tiny data pad and laid it on the worktable. Sanskrit took it and examined it with a keen glance, digits tracing the elaborate "Zell" glyph etched into the back. She hemmed thoughtfully as a single digit hovered above the artistic starry, nebulous design behind it, and what Smokescreen thought looked like vague recognition flickered in her ruby optics.
"Any idea whose mark that is? It looked sorta like your style which I why I came here. I'm trying to get it back to the owner but I have no idea who she is. And she is not making herself easy to find. She's not got a social circle from what I've found so far, so I'm going around the other way – indirect."
"It does look like my style, yes," Sanskrit admitted slowly, thoughtfully, "however there are a few differences to it. For one, the main design is bolder than what I usually go for. See how thick the glyph is, and yet then how it tapers off here and here? I prefer a light, more abstract style. I admit the artistic backing looks more like my work – slenderer, more elegant in weight. This was most likely made by one of my apprentices. I'll look into the logs and see who completed this order for you. One moment, please."
Smokescreen leaned forward onto the table while he waited. The wait was only a terrestrial minute or so.
"Hm. Yes, one of my apprentices was the one who completed the design request. However he is on business in Polyhex and will not be back for a few solar cycles. And – Mm. This is unusual."
"What?" he leaned in to try and peer at the display, prompting the femme to smile at him.
"The purchaser did not leave an address or even a full name. She ordered it under the single cyberglyph "Zell" and did not give us contact details. She seems to enjoy anonymity for some reason. Odd since according to the logs she put it in in person when she came."
She was about to say something further when a faint groan of aggravation escaped Smokescreen's vocalizer. Then
THUD!
Sanskrit's helm jerked to stare back at the work table. Smokescreen's own helm had solidly impacted the table and it didn't look like it would be rising any time soon. Glyphs for frustration, annoyance, and even one or two for hopelessness jumped around in his field. She had to admit she becoming intrigued. He seemed very intent on getting the little data pad back to this mysterious "Zell" femme and was quickly losing patience when it came to her love of remaining far below the public radar. Because of that his task was going to be far from easy. But he wasn't the most resourceful, well-liked lieutenant in the Elite Guard without due reason. He was good with 'bots, very good, and he had a sharp processor.
"'M never gonn' find her..." he mumbled morosely.
"Smokescreen, there's one other thing I'd like to point out. The background design behind the cyberglyph closely mimics the tribal markings of the Sky Painters. Also, as a side note, the payment for the design was put through under the tab of the Cybertronian Exploration and Research Fleet, not "Zell" herself. I believe the CERF has a habit of getting their scientists to mark their belongings to prevent robbery or plagiarism of another's work. It doesn't happen often from what I hear, but it does occur every now and again. Perhaps someone there knows her?"
His helm rose from the table, "Trust me, I tried that route already. I went through Perceptor, then a couple of other physicists and astrophysicists over the past solar cycle or so but none of them knew her. They admitted to seeing her briefly a few times but that's it. Don't know her name. She never spoke with them. It'd help if I could get into the slagging thing and see what's on it, but that was a bust too – homemade encryption that the Iacon code-breakers in the Hall couldn't bust through."
"Perhaps you have been looking in the wrong fields. The stars and nebulae might be a hint that she works in one of the stellar research fields, not astrophysics. While there are many mechs and femmes in both fields and, though they do interact with each other quite frequently, that is often through wireless scientific reports and findings. Astronomical research is a connected study field and yet each branch maintains a certain separation to prevent a confusion of data. And obviously this "Zell" might have trouble reaching out to make friends."
The glyphs for hopelessness began to fade on hearing that.
"Which one do you think I should try first?" he asked her, "I've heard of the Sky Painters and they're dances and stuff, but I think they're nomadic and never stay in one place for too long. Like being 'on the wind' from what I heard from Darksteel. I'm not even sure where they are right now. I mean, last I heard they were way over in Vos. Or was it Tyger Pax? I'm not sure. Either way, that's a long ways away and I'm not sure if I can convince Magnus to let me go. And I gotta get back to headquarters soon."
"Then I suggest the stellar research route whenever you get a chance later on," Sanskrit advised. "Someone in that branch might actually know her. I will warn you though – stellar research is a fairly large branch since it encompasses dozens of other fields like planetary science, spectroscopy, radiology, cosmology, and more. You might need to narrow your search further somehow."
Smokescreen pushed himself off the desk, expression thoughtful. Soon he nodded to himself, grabbing the mysterious "Zell" data pad, thanking Sanskrit and heading for the door. Those were the best leads he had gotten thus far. But he had no idea when he'd be able to follow up on it. Magnus was expecting him back really soon, and the days he could actively search weren't exactly common. He couldn't fault the Commander for that though – he needed him. But right as he was about to exit, he paused. Something didn't add up.
"Sanskrit? How do you know so much about the CERF?"
The femme smiled again, laughing a little at his intrigued tone.
"I'm an artist enthusiast – one who feels that the universe's beauty is unmatched and who tries her best to convey it in her work."
Smiling back and thanking her once more, he left the femme's business.
THE CERF INTERVENTION
Two cycles later...
Neutrino strolled towards the bridge of his ship, arms folded behind his back, his pace leisured and unhurried. He paused at a porthole that revealed the colorful, ionized clouds of dust and infant spheres of light that the Intervention was surrounded by. A smile formed on his lip-plates. This mission was going wonderfully so far despite the danger lurking outside in the glowing stellar nursery. Zodiac was adapting remarkably well to his crew, and her navigation and piloting skills were nothing short of mind-boggling. Add to that her extensive astronomical knowledge and she could probably pilot a star-ship on her own if that were physically possible. There was a certain...a certain grace with which she piloted. Massive as the Intervention was compared to her tiny but speedy ship, the Tieyeian Bolt, she still piloted it less like a ship and more like a gigantic bird. There was no abruptness in her turns or decelerations.
The particle physicist passed by the porthole, idly wondering if Corvus Rho had made any progress in tracking down the little Avioid's data pad. Anyone who knew her knew that tracking her down if you didn't know her was next to impossible. Honestly, Rho was probably having an easier time tracking down the crash victim than the crash victim might be having in tracking the owner down. A chuckle escaped his vocalizer only to cut off on hearing something unusual coming from the bridge. He couldn't quite make it out, so he quickened his pace. When he did make it to the bridge's sliding doors he paused just outside, not fully believing what he was hearing from inside.
Singing. Someone was seriously jamming out on the bridge, and he recognized the tomboyish voice right away.
"...bein' myself is what I do. I do. I do! I go my own way! My call every single day – no matter what they say! Yeah, I go my own way – my way! My way! My way! My way! My way! My way! My way! My way! My way! I go my own way!"
So focused was he on listening to the last ringing note that he failed to to notice the door sliding open right in front of him, and he barely took heed of Sunflare joining him at his side. Zodiac's sharp audials unfortunately heard the door slide open with a soft hiss, and she whipped around to stare at them both. The look on her faceplates showed she was debating bolting under their pedes and vanishing into the ship's interior. Her wings folded as she tried to shield her faceplates from the two onlookers. If she were capable of blushing like a human, she probably would be.
Sunflare slowly applauded in almost unconscious way. "Wow. Just...wow."
"Once a Sky Painter, always a Sky Painter, eh?" Neutrino wondered.
"Wait, what?" Sunflare demanded.
Zodiac stared apprehensively at them both, still obviously debating fleeing. Eventually she sighed. The wings folded back behind her. As they watched, the diodes on her right arm ignited to form a slender artist's brush before the diodes simply began cascading down the limb like a river. A faint wispy glow could just barely been seen on her mesh. Sunflare assumed it was some sort of special paint that only reacted to the wavelength of her diodes, but he had to admit how oddly like a nebula it looked. Where – where had he seen that before? Kalis? Polyhex?
Sunflare's mouth dropped open, "Y-You're a Sky Painter? Seriously? That's amazing! I love those guys! Their aerial dances are incredible!"
"Yeah, well – I'm not much of a performer. I'm part of 'em, yeah, and have some of their talents, but like I said – not a performer. Don't like crowds, and I don't like those crowds all staring at me." Zodiac explained in a mumble, shifting uncomfortably.
"You weren't...kicked out, were you?" the burnt orange grounder asked tentatively.
She shook her helm, replying with a hint of offense in her voice, "'Flare, they're not sparkless jerks. Other 'bots call Predacons forceful, and some tribes do kick out members, but that's if they commit crimes. The Sky Painters are pretty laid back. They tried to help with the stage fright actually, but it just...it never really worked; never really took. Some things just can't be fixed. Besides, the Artist – our alpha – thinks that art takes many forms. Science is one of 'em. I left the tribe to join the CERF, but I'm still with them. I contact 'em every now and again to see how they're doing, and a few of them always love to hear me talk about my work. I'm...well, I'm their pet space nerd."
Sunflare grinned. Here he thought he'd known her pretty well by this point, and now she had revealed she was part of the planet-renowned Sky Painters. Retrospectively, that actually made sense – it explained her expert flying and piloting skills. Many Sky Painters were sparked acrobats, able to fly practically like experts the moment they emerged from the Well, leading to their flawless coordination during their aerial displays. Zodiac was obviously one of those acrobats, but because of her fear of strangers and love of remaining low profile, very few of the CERF had ever found out.
"So, how're things going up here?" he asked then.
"All good. I've gotten a few alerts from the scanners about some huge energy surges from some of the nearby T Tauri stars. I sent it along to engineering deck and they've already rerouted a bit more power to the shields. Got nothin' to worry about. Only way these shields go down is if we get blasted by a gamma ray burst, and there are no sources for GRBs in the neighborhood – well, none close enough to deal us a beating. There's one black hole/neutron star pair that could cause a GRB, but it's about three hundred seventy parsecs away. Most we'll get here is a tingle in the shields and a minor disruption to our EM fields if the neutron star merges while we're out here. Very low chance for that though."
Sunflare nodded, "Engineering told me about the surges; just wanted to make sure. Keep me updated alongside engineering. Last thing we want is our shields to get bombarded by a bipolar jet from one of these guys, or saturated with x-rays. Either could do a real number on the ship's sensitive instruments, and then there goes all our hard work."
"The Intervention is built sturdy, but the old bird can only take so much punishment," Neutrino agreed. "No ship is completely invulnerable."
She saluted. "Aye aye, sirs."
Nodding, the two mechs left the bridge, allowing Zodiac to return to her work.
One deca-cycle later...
"You mean...you actually stumbled across a Nightdemon victim in Iacon?" Smokescreen demanded in worry.
"Yeah," The yellow and black mech sitting beside him in Macadam's shuddered in remembrance.
Bumblebee had been involved in the War for longer than Smokescreen, so death was no new concept to him. He was familiar with bodies, having seen some friends of his laid to rest during the War, some nearly blown to pieces from mortar fire and grenades. But to see the body one of Hammerstrike's Sharkticon pirates crumpled in a side alley in Iacon, neck cables split wide open, faceplates locked in a scream of horror, Energon pooled and splattered around him, was a little too much. He'd told Smokescreen about it, and the mech had invited him out to talk it out and simply to catch up with each other. He'd been very busy over the past week or so, unable to simply get together and chat.
"But I thought the Demon operates only in Kaon?"
"I thought so, too. But Kaon is Iacon's sister-city, and one or two bodies have been found here before now. Maybe She's got a hold here. Smoke, you know I can't talk about an active police investigation that I'm involved in. You know that. Protocol and all," Bumblebee reminded him.
"Right. Sorry. Just...Primus," Smokescreen shivered. "Not the best way to bring your night patrol shift to an end."
"So what about you? Ultra Magnus been keeping you busy and out of trouble?"
The blue and yellow mech snorted humorously: "Busy, slag yes. Out of trouble? Ha! You wish. It's actually because of a bit of trouble that I've been so busy."
Bumblebee looked at him curiously, a faint smile forming. "What'd you do?"
"Nothing actually. Just standing outside headquarters about two weeks ago, day-dreaming. Next thing I know there's this rush of wind and KA-POW! Something nails me in the back o' the helm – I seriously thought someone had konked me with the Forge or something – and knocks me out for a full breem. I come back online and – what's the first thing you think I saw?"
The other shrugged. He was grinning now he was happy to note.
"Data pads. Surrounded by 'em. Not even regular sized ones. I mean, these are little bitty things that looked like they belonged to a mini-con. I look around and eventually I spot what I can only assume is the owner. She's this teensy little midnight blue femme – Avioid Predacon, actually – only about seven feet tall I guess, and she's absolutely covered in little light-emitting diodes. Weirdest designed Pred I've ever seen so far, but..."
"But?" Bumblebee prompted.
Smokescreen began to look embarrassed. Then he replied in an embarrassed tone: "Okay, fine. I'll admit it. She was...kinda pretty," The last two words came out in a near mumble.
Bumblebee promptly started laughing. Leave it to Smokescreen to meet a girl in the most unorthodox manner imaginable: by getting hit by one.
"Anyways, she's still out of it, but she doesn't look hurt. So I started gathering up the data pads up for her as she's comin' back online. One of 'em landed within arm's reach of me and so I tucked that one away to give me a free hand. I went over to her and put the things down near her, minus the one I had stored, getting her attention as non-abruptly as I could. Her field had a couple of fear and nervousness glyphs, so I took that as meaning she was either confused and scared or just plain skittish. She whips around and stares at me with these big royal blue optics. Then down at the data pads. Then back up at me. Then back down. Then back at me."
" 'These are yours, right?' " I asked her.
"She nods real slowly. I tried to grab the last one from the nook in my doorwings, but even as I did that she – 'Bee, it was amazing. She grabs the data pads, shoves 'em into her book bag thing, transforms and then – gone. Just like that," he snapped his digits. "I didn't even get to really see her alt. mode she was gone that fast. Just grabbed her stuff and whoosh! Gone!"
"Wait...what about the data pad? Did she get that one, too?"
The Elite Guardmech grinned a bit sheepishly. He pulled out the data pad from a subspace storage compartment and laid it on the bar table for the former scout to see. Bumblebee took the tiny data pad in one hand and examined in with a keen optic as Smokescreen explained why he still had it and, in effect, why he had been so busy of late.
"I don't know the owner's name. All I've got to go on is her personal mark: "Zell." I paid a visit to some of the physicists, astrophysicists and all that to start out with, but they weren't much help. They've seen someone matching that description but they don't know her name. I paid Sanskrit a visit a little more recently and she was actually more help: one of her apprentices was the one to make the mark, and the mark hints that she may be connected to the stellar research branches. Also pointed out she might be a Sky Painter. 'parrently the background closely mimics their tribal markings."
Bumblebee let out an impressed whistle. "A Sky Painter scientist? Wow."
"I know, right?"
"So what's your next lead?"
"I've arranged to meet with someone involved with the Iacon Observatory next week when I got some more off time. Some Seeker guy named Coma. Apparently he's seen someone matching her description and he knows who can point me in the right direction. Again, doesn't know her name but he's seen her a lot. Regular at the Observatory. Guy I'm gonna meet goes by the name of Corvus Rho."
The scout stared at him. "Corvus Rho? The navigator of the CERF Intervention, one of the most famous research vessels in the whole Fleet? Huh. Weird contact. I wonder what he's got to do with this."
"Dunno. But when the next deca-cycle rolls around, I'll find out."
Disclaimer time: "My Own Way" is owned by Disney. I just like it because it's, like, the ultimate introvert's song.
