Chapter 11: Chapter 10
Chapter 10
Transformers are property of Hasbro
Quadrant 12, Sector 12D-outer asteroid belt
A ring of asteroids floated peacefully in the void, surrounded by countless thousands of stars. In the very center of the ring a titan slumbered. Migrating Colony 21186D was forged from reinforced Cybertronium, able to withstand impacts up to the magnitude of a small crash landing without injuring its inhabitants.
The mammoth ship, known affectionately as Sherwood by its 2079 human inhabitants, and Storm Front by its 462 Cybertronian inhabitants, moved slowly from place to place. It was meant to explore for the purpose of boldly seeking out new life and creating new colonies, yet most of those living within it never dreamed of leaving.
Somewhere within the western edge of 21186D, in a shielded hangar bay, sat an old fighter craft. To say that it was "well-loved" would be an understatement, but to call it a rust bucket would have been an overstatement and an insult. A pair of armored legs stuck out from beneath the old warbird, and a cheerful-if tuneless-whistle echoed through the nearly empty hangar.
A door hissed open and a young woman entered. Combat boots made a hollow thunk on the deck as she walked towards the whistling mechanic. Bi-colored hair clashed with the grease-stained fatigues she wore, and the dog-tags jingling around her neck were covered in Cybertronian glyphs.
Her eyes were fixed on a screen in her hand; she didn't stop to look up at the mechanic. She merely slapped his foot as she said loudly, "Dispatch call!"
The mech sat up quickly, resulting in a thunderous crash, and an even more thunderous bellow of pain, followed by some inventive vocabulary. The girl stepped back and raised an eyebrow as the mechanic emerged, covered in energon and cursing his ship.
"Think that's funny, do you? Just you wait, ya hunk of junk! I'mma punch you in your scrap-lousy face!" He shook his clawed fist at the offending vehicle before noticing the human.
"Miko, what is it? I was fine-tuning the Storm-bringer!" he said impatiently. Mikoto Nakadai snickered and held up the screen.
"Oh I can see that! Well I'd hate to interrupt, but there's a dispatch from Eden, Chief. And next time? Just ask Wheeljack to do it!"
Ultra Magnus scowled down at the littlest Wrecker. "I am perfectly capable of managing my own ship!" he protested.
"Riight. Which is why you were about to punch it in its scrap-lousy face. Which, by the way, Bulkhead might not like you saying, since that's kind of his trademark now."
Magnus hated it when the younger Wreckers caught him swearing. It made scoldings on similar subjects completely ineffectual.
He settled for leveling a ferocious glare at the girl and snatching the data pad from her.
"Crops are flourishing, no political snarls," he read aloud."Well that's all well and good, but I fail to see the relevance of such knowledge to us," he muttered in an aside to Miko, who shrugged. Magnus continued, "Family is well, Bumblebee and the Esquivel boys want to visit...that will be interesting..."
The tall mech scrolled through the letter lazily, ingesting the news from the other sectors. "Are Bulkhead and Smokescreen finished with the shield?" he asked off-handedly.
Miko climbed up to sit on a stack of crates nearby, and winced. "They're almost done, Boss Bot. Once Bulk finishes recalibrating the containment field, we should have a sustainable oxygen/carbon dioxide flow on the outer decks."
Commander Magnus hadn't lived for so long by not paying attention to details. He had heard the other Wrecker's hissing intake of breath. "What's the matter, Miko? Is it your arm?"
The human grimaced and shrugged. She glanced down at the Cybertronian prosthetic and flexed it, earning herself a twinge of discomfort. She'd lost the limb during a skirmish with MECH in Tokyo two years before, resulting in - among other things - a change of legal guardians, extensive counseling, and a "sweet" metal limb that wasn't always all it was cracked up to be.
"Yep," Miko sighed, "It's the arm. It always acts up a little when it's cold."
Ultra Magnus nodded sympathetically. "It has gotten cold recently, hasn't it? I'll have to ask engineering to do something about that."
He held out one hand, and the girl agilely scrambled up to perch on his shoulder. "Let's see if we can't find Wheeljack and the Rookie," he suggested.
As the pair left the hangar, neither saw the Storm-bringer's alarm systems spring to life, warning of an unidentified mass floating near the colony.
Ismaros, city of Eden
Jack awoke early, as was his habit. One month had passed since the disastrous mission to Outpost Gallimimus and, although you couldn't tell by looking at the surface, those at the Capitol were very worried. They had reassigned the entire Sector Sweep team to be part of an early warning initiative developed by Prowl. Arcee and Jack had been sent from one end of the city to the other, warning various municipal employees and testing defenses.
So far the only danger they'd come across was a toothy, unpleasant creature in the terrace fields. It had been deterred fairly easily by a pair of warriors like them, but Optimus had insisted that they warn local parents all the same. Especially since the blasted thing had nearly scared the life out of a local sparkling not two weeks ago. Springer was sent with Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, and Ironhide to investigate the wreckage of Outpost Gallimimus for a clue to the identity of the strange attackers.
Jack shrugged on his navy blue uniform and tugged on his boots. He and Arcee would be joining Prowl to scan the rings around Ismaros today. There had been talk of putting up shields in the rings, but there would have to be a survey first. To anchor shield generators in strategic places around the floating debris would be lengthy and dangerous work, not to mention costly. Before any measures were taken to fund the project, the chances of success would have to be evaluated.
Arcee wasn't at the house when he got up, so Jack headed for the archives on foot.
Arcee hadn't slept much the night before, and with good reason. Against her better judgment, she had allowed her sisters Chromia and Moonracer to drag her the Aspen and Iris, a public house. Chromia was there for something called "mead" that was coming in from the Kaonian provinces. Arcee didn't like the smell and stuck to mid-grade energon. Moonracer had somehow cajoled a pair of combiners into arm wrestling.
(Literally, they detached their arms and let them fight.)
A crowd quickly gathered to place bets on the combatants. Arcee severely hoped that no one who outranked her would enter in the next few hours. This was just embarrassing.
"I can't believe I'm related to you two!" Arcee had groaned, scooting further into the dark corner they'd chosen.
Chromia smirked at her. "You need to loosen up, little sister. All this Creepy Mystery Attack business will overwhelm you if you don't let off some steam every now and then!"
"And the shooting range doesn't count!" Moonracer declared, seemingly popping up out of nowhere. The other two scarcely blinked an optic. By now they were used to their sister's bizarre tendencies. Either she was the sneakiest femme alive, or she was warping time and space. Arcee didn't even care which one it was anymore.
The light green femme bounced away from the table. "Hey, watch this! I bet if I start singing the Insecticon Drinking Song, I can get five mechs to join in!"
Arcee stared at her. "You're overcharged, aren't you?"
Chromia shook her helm. "Nope, just Moonracer." The lighter blue femme stood up with a sigh. "I'mma make sure she doesn't start that song about smiling at spooks again. You know what happens when she gets a musical number started." Chromia marched over to drag Moonracer away from the musicians, then turned to shout over her shoulder, "Try to enjoy yourself a little, ok?"
Arcee humphed noncommittally. She did smile a little when her sisters accidentally started an impromptu karaoke session, but the other patrons clearly had better things to spend their money on than singing lessons, so the smile soon turned into a pained wince.
She was about to head for the outside balcony when her audial receivers picked up the words, "...seen attacks like this before."
Desperately trying to tune out the surrounding cacophony and focus on that one voice, Arcee listened closely.
"Way back near the beginning of the Allied Exploration Initiative, it was," the creaking voice continued, "Whole bases would just vanish overnight. Couldn't call it Decepticons, there weren't none left-not officially."
Arcee left her corner to find the owner of the voice. Just a few tables away, an old, old Seeker with red and gold highlights on his rusty armor sat on a bench. A younger, blue and silver Seeker sat next to him with a slightly bored look on his face. Clearly, he'd heard this story before. He couldn't have been any older than the Trine from Kaon, making Arcee wonder why someone his age was in a public house.
Arcee approached the two. "Hi. Forgive me, I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but what were you saying about bases vanishing?"
The cloudy red optics lit up at the fresh audience. "Jetfire," he wheezed, holding out a taloned hand, "And this is my grandson, Jetstorm."
"Arcee," the femme replied.
"Yes, we know who you are," Jetstorm remarked. Arcee blinked at the young mech's rudeness. But then, in an atmosphere like this, perhaps politeness was too much to hope for. Jetfire picked up his tale again.
"I went to investigate the destruction of Cygnus 26 with my team," he said.
Arcee's optics lit with recognition. All Alliance members remembered the doomed ship Cygnus 26; it had been carrying supplies to one of the first colonies, but never made its destination. It had never been clear what had happened, though.
"Ten mechs go into the ship," Jetfire murmured in a vacant tone, "three mechs come out. Soul-snatchers took the rest."
(a/n: because JAWS, that's why.)
"Soul-snatchers, Grandsire? Really? Those are barrack-room tales to scare younglings!" Jetstorm snorted.
The old one went on as if he'd never been interrupted. "You ever see a Soul-snatcher? You won't until it's too late. They got cloaks, you know. Don't let anybot see them before they're good and ready. Pit-spawned wicked, they are. And their optics-" he shuddered- "They're like a dead thing-no spark to 'em. Until they get their claws in a mech, and then their eyes just blaze with unholy light. Me and two others got off that ship, loose-armored and barely sane. HQ didn't believe us, miss. Now they've made it out here, and it's going to take more than a level 9 containment field to keep 'em off!"
Even after leaving the Aspen and Iris, near dragging Moonracer, who was not ready to go, Arcee kept turning Jetfire's words over in her processor. Soul-snatchers, eh? She vaguely recalled hearing stories about them when she was stationed on Earth. ...Chromia had ended up checking under her recharge bunk every night for a week. The small Cybertronian decided that this warranted further research.
After dropping her sisters off at their respective quarters, Arcee headed for the central archives. If any place was going to have the information she wanted, it would be here. By this time it was near the middle of the night, and the watchmen greeted her with confusion as she drove past them. Mentally thanking Optimus for her security access-pass, the cycle-bot made her way to the nearest online data kiosk. The floors below still hummed with activity, being sorting areas for books and datapads, but the upper floors were as still as death.
"Ok," she muttered, "Soul-snatchers."
Thin servos danced over the keyboard. A dull ping echoed through the empty room, and three results flashed upon the screens.
"On the use of Mythical Terrors as Societal Controls. Well that's probably not it," Arcee grumbled. She moved on to the next one. "Soul-Snatchers! Don't scream, they already know you're there!." The femme groaned. "Definitely not that one! Ok, number three..."
She selected the last result, magnifying it. "Well, this looks promising. Ten Cycles of Terror: the truth behind the Cygnus 26 Incident."
Arcee tapped the left screen to indicate that she needed the file. "What the- Inter-library loan only?! Agh, stupid database!"
Irritated, she requested the file and began a new search.
"Incident report: Cynus 26." No results.
"Security access, level 10. Commander Arcee. Incident report: Cygnus 26," she repeated. A folder appeared on the screen to the right, which she quickly moved to the center and opened. In cheerful glyphs across the top of the page, it read: "This file is in Binary. Use AutoTranslate?"
All I want is an incident report! Arcee thought, Is that too much to ask?!
With an exasperated sigh, she selected Auto-Translate and watched the page divide into seven individual files: Cygnus 26's ship logs, the investigation team's initial report, the incident report, two medics' evaluations of the survivors, a transcript of an Allied Exploration Initiative council meeting, and a file simply labeled ".Sparkeater_[creature]." Most of the files, Arcee notes, had been compiled by Optimus Prime within the last two months.
Her own spark clenched nervously as she read the multiple reports. Clearly, these attacks had happened before, four years ago with the Cygnus 26 Incident. Why then, did the information only make it to the Edenite Council after Optimus located it? Arcee smirked. No one, not even Rafael, could out-hack Orion Pax!
"Further investigation after Jetfire's testimony warranted the quarantining of the Cygnus 26 in a Level 9 containment field, effectively trapping the responsible parties," Arcee read aloud. Hm, 'effectively trapping', really? Then what are the other reports? Copycat killers? Running a hand over her aching helm, Arcee moved to the "Sparkeater" file.
It was encyclopedic in nature, and unfortunately rather vague. The blue femme glanced around the darkened and empty floor before reading on. "*Sparkeaters are powerful and monstrous predators, so rarely seen that they are largely believed by Cybertronians to be mythical. As such, mere mention of them can invoke a sense of supernatural terror even among battle-hardened warriors. Little is firmly known of their habits or origin..." She trailed off. Scrap. Scrap scrap scrap! she thought, What did we get ourselves into this time?!
When she joined Jack and Prowl later that morning, she was tense. Jack hadn't seen her like this since the day they'd stumbled upon Airachnid's crashed ship, years ago.
"What's wrong?" he immediately asked. His partner smiled at him, but there was no humor in her expression.
"You and I are officially bad news magnets," she said dryly.
Prowl raised an eyebrow as the femme explained what she had learned about the possible identity of the mystery attackers. The tactician frowned. "If this is true, the Kaonian provinces must be warned immediately!" he stated, "Captain Darby, as Optimus is currently sequestered with the Edenite Council discussing the benefits of the shield program, it falls to us to inform Megatronus."
"Falls to Jack, you mean," Arcee corrected him, "He won't recognize you as having authority to treat with him, and he and I have got bad energon between us. He might actually humor Jack with an audience, because he's so young."
Jack grimaced. "Gee, thanks Arcee. I feel so confident now!"
Failing to recognize the sarcasm in the human's voice, Prowl nodded. "Very well, as you are confidant, I expect you will establish communication shortly. You are both excused from the survey." As the tactician transformed and rolled out, the partners stared at each other in dismay, each thinking the same thing.
"Scrap!"
And back to danger! Mwahahaha!
Just a quick note here, the phrase: "I'mma punch you in your scrap-lousy face" came from a dear friend of mine. The guy's pretty much as close to a real-life Bulkhead as you can get. I sincerely hope he never finds out about this, because I'm not sure how to explain casting him as a giant robot.
Arcee's experience with the library computer is based on the fact that library databases never seem to be helpful when I need them to be...
Also, the definition of Sparkeaters comes from /wiki/Sparkeater_(creature). Although, they're a wee bit different in my story.