Chapter 17

"Blast"

Escape velocity. That was what she was trying for - enough speed to tear herself out of Cybertron's gravitational grasp. Hawkmoon's thrusters burned a white-hot plasma streak through the sky, the panels on her wings fluctuating near-constantly to account for the quickening changes in pressure and the sheer force she was demanding her engines to exert. It was tense - brutal, even. Her frame rattled and twinged with the changes in pressure, in velocity, in gravity, in everything. It was different to the high-alt flight in that this... this was dangerous. This was completely new territory.

Hawkmoon skimmed over the edge of the stratosphere, breaking the sound barrier and then some, flying and flying and flying until... she wasn't flying any more. She was... orbiting.

::Steady,:: her flight instructor murmured, gliding alongside her. She couldn't truly hear him. Or anyone. Or anything. No medium for sound to flow through. They were in hard vacuum, at long last. ::Very good, balance out. How do you feel?::

Hawkmoon stalled. ::I... I don't know.::

The sensation of weightlessness, of the ultimate freedom tugged at her, tugged at her spark, her soul, her heart, and it beckoned her onwards, towards the great blanket of deep black and twinkling stars. It washed over her, drenching her in its persuasive influence. Cybertron pulled at the other end, vestiges of its gravity keeping her anchored, keeping her from floating out into the darkness of space.

Orbiting, again; that was all. Not drifting. Not yet.

::You'll get used to it,:: her instructor promised her. ::Your trine's catching up. Fall in formation.::

::Yes sir.:: Hawkmoon slowed down, falling back - not so far as to break out of her safe trajectory, but enough that Nacelle and Cyberwarp, just exiting their own ascent, could catch up and fall in line by her rear winglets. ::Hey. Status?::

::I should've gotten a better paintjob,:: Nacelle grumbled. ::It's flaking off of me.::

::Ew.::

::What was that parlour you two visited, all those orns ago? I'll have to check in later for myself.::

::Muuuuch later,:: Cyberwarp cheerfully added. ::We've got something to do, remember?::

::Oh right,:: he drawled. ::How could I forget?::

::Northwind's coming up,:: Hawkmoon observed. ::Cut the chatter and make room.::

::Slowpokes,:: Cyberwarp chuckled. They all swerved as one, moving in synchronization, and swayed to the side as the next trine burst out of Cybertron's skies and joined them. The other trio shook off the heat and stress of the take-off, one of them shuddering almost dangerously, and eventually leveled out. Not quite so smoothly as her own trine, Hawkmoon noted with satisfaction, but close enough.

::By Primus, you're fast.:: Northwind sped up to keep pace with Hawkmoon. ::You fly like your life depends on it, 'Moon.::

::Maybe it does,:: she cheekily shot back. Contrail would have killed her if he'd heard that, but up beyond Cybertron's hold? Freedom was hers, to do with as she wished - and Traveler above, did Hawkmoon want to drive herself to the brink, to the edge, to her every limit. ::Quell's rudder is shaking, by the way.::

::I see it now. I'll tell him, thanks.:: Northwind slowed down. Quell's shivering wing-panels froze in place, perhaps just reminded that they were acting on thruster alone rather than wing. No air currents to take advantage of up in the big open nothingness.

The other two trines eventually caught up, having a little more difficulty escaping the thermosphere as they shifted from atmospheric flight-controls to practically free-floating. A little jarring, Hawkmoon would admit - but she'd had ample experience doing it with a jumpship from Earth. Different than actually being the jumpship, sure, but that just meant she was able to read and react to each developing variable all the more efficiently.

Their instructor had them settle into the feeling of surfing off their orbit, then gradually ran them through all the simple flight-maneuvers they already knew off by heart - though it did feel a little strange, doing it in next to zero-g. Hawkmoon herded Nacelle and Cyberwarp through all the imagined hurdles, then charging ahead and cutting a straight path through. It was a delight, the simplicity of basically being able to move however and wherever she wished via a simple quick burst of her thrusters.

The really scary part was when they were instructed to transform. Hawkmoon did so only after a moment's consideration, and vented heavily as her body rebuilt itself into a humanoid form. The dispelled heat sizzled in the paradoxically baking and frozen space all around, drifting as scattered molecules splashing unseen over her stretched arms and splayed digits. She hovered, thrusters adjusting her trajectory to account for her transformed state, and allowed herself to float onwards - optics taking in the sight of naked stars, no clouds to block her line of sight - and wonder where she was headed next.

::Want to take this further?:: their instructor, a mech by the name of Swiftsear, asked conspiratorially.

::What do you mean?:: Northwind questioned.

::Oh, nothing. Just that we have permission to visit Trypticon Station and then head on further - if we think we can manage the trip. Any objections?::

None whatsoever. Hawkmoon hadn't anticipated any; space-flight wasn't any more difficult than doing so within the bounds of a planet's gravity well, if a touch easier. Well, easier if one was able to moderate each and every one of their propulsion systems like a Seeker could. A straight burn to the nearest habitable satellite? Child's play, even for those students who struggled with the most inane of tasks - just like one of the trines present. Silverbolt was too nervous, Sunstorm too hesitant, and Bitlink too slow to react to orders.

Still, they could manage a straight trajectory. Surely.

::Your paintjob's going to have to wait,:: Hawkmoon told Nacelle. ::You two good for this?::

::Yep,:: Cyberwarp cheerfully chirped.

::Might as well be,:: Nacelle grunted.

::Loving your confidence,:: Hawkmoon groaned. ::Alright, form up.:: They all transformed back into their altmodes and, after waiting for Swiftsear to clear the decision with the rest of the flight-group, shot ahead through the near-emptiness of the exosphere to the where the chief Vosian spacestation hovered in null - like a tall, imposing cathedral caught adrift in the currents of the unseen Void.

It soon became apparent to Hawkmoon just why they were popping by the spacestation instead of attempting a descent back onto Cybertron. Firstly - Swiftsear wanted to clear them first on handling so abrupt a change in gravity as from open space to the artificial kind blanketing the inside of Trypticon's open hangars. She felt the shift in gravitational pull the moment her alt-form's nose dipped past the weak energy-shielding surrounding the hangar's entrance, and she adjusted correctly - realigning the angle of her thrusters as well as the magnitude of the force they exerted to compensate. Hawkmoon sent a heads-up Nacelle and Cyberwarp's way to warn them; they made it in without issue, just like her. Northwind's group was much the same, not trouble beyond a few trembling wings. Silverbolt's, on the other hand, almost crashed. As it was, the three of them landed poorly, scratching both their frames and a short length of the hangar floor.

Swiftsear did not look happy. Neither did the other Seekers waiting for them within the hangar.

::We'll talk about this when we get back,:: he told the errant students, then turned to address the rest. ::Transform if you'd like, but we're not staying long. Fuel will be offered; top up your tanks as high as you can. We're headed to Luna-2 in a joor. Don't go anywhere. Don't bother anyone::

::They're really asking a lot from us,:: Nacelle murmured.

Hawkmoon hummed. ::Don't think you can handle it?::

::Oh, no, WE can. Silverbolt? I wouldn't risk it if I were the one leading this expedition.::

Cyberwarp scoffed. ::We'll be fine. Silverbolt too. Besides, Luna-2 will be easy.::

::I think that's the point,:: Hawkmoon observed. ::Weaker gravity well, easier for us to stick a controlled landing. Practice before we head home.::

::That makes sense.::

::What's Luna-2's location right now?::

::Pulling over Cybertron's northwestern hemisphere,:: Nacelle told her. ::It'll track by Trypticon soon. We'll have a quick burn to get there and back if Swiftsear's timing this on purpose.::

::Great.::

Luna-2 was dusty. Like the Moon. Hawkmoon didn't have much else to say. No Hive, though. Not anywhere in sight, at least. That was a relief.

Also - no one died trying to stick a landing. Yay.

Close thing, though.

The flight back to Cybertron was mostly uneventful. Not that it was much of a surprise; there wasn't much to struggle with beyond Luna-2's receding gravity, and even that was cakewalk. They passed over Trypticon, much to Hawkmoon's dismay - she really, really wanted to explore the place - and were just about to drop back into Cybertron's atmosphere when Swiftsear visibly flinched, shuddering from nose to fin.

::Is something wrong?:: Hawkmoon immediately asked.

Swiftsear didn't answer for a little while. When he did, his voice cut into all their channels and carried with it a warningly grim note. ::When we return to the Institute, go to your dorms. Immediately. Do you understand? No one leaves.::

::Sir-:: Northwind started to say.

::This is not a drill. Do you UNDERSTAND?::

::Yes sir.::

Hawkmoon was about to say the same, but then Cyberwarp pinged her - and directed her visual sensors towards the Cybertron's southern hemisphere, just below the equator. ::What... what's that?::

There was a pinprick of bright blue. Nothing large from their angle, nothing like the many sparkling city-states, but... it was there. Nestled on the edge of... what was it? Tarn? Or Tyger Pax? One of the two - possibly between them both.

::That... that look like an energon explosion to anyone else?:: Nacelle asked with rising concern.

::I think that's where the global refineries are...:: Cyberwarp whispered. ::There's the landing fields, the factories, the tram-tracks, and that's... oh no.::

They tore through Cybertron's clouds with haste, shrugging off the burns of re-entry and cutting a path directly to the institute. Vos looked... subdued. The skies were clearer, fewer Seekers out and about. Everything was quieter. Not silent, but noticeably less loud.

Hawkmoon hated it. She hated how nervous she was. Because...

She wasn't sure. Just that it was bad.

They landed without issue; apparently a potentially existential resource crisis had convinced Silverbolt to give their return trip his all. They soared through the territories surrounding the Institute, dipped into the nearest hangar built into its high tower and were met with more staff than anything else. Contrail stepped forward the moment Hawkmoon had landed and transformed, gripped her pauldron, and quietly said to her, "Get inside. Now."

"What's happening?" she worriedly asked, glancing at Cyberwarp and Nacelle.

"I don't know yet," he whispered. "But something hit the refineries. You need to go. Go!"

Hawkmoon didn't argue. She left for her dormitory on the spot.

The first channel Nacelle picked was the main Vosian news broadcast. A reporter was midway into a tirade about something or other, but the text running across the bottom of the screen...

BREAKING NEWS: CENTRAL ENERGON REFINERY BOMBED

Cyberwarp uttered a strangled gasp. "Bombed?" she cried out. "Wha-"

Nacelle switched to the Praxian news channel.

BREAKING NEWS: REFINERY ATTACKED

Then the one for Tyger Pax.

BREAKING NEWS: EXPLOSION AT CENTRAL ENERGON REFINERY FIELDS

Then the same for Polyhex, Tarn, Stanix (far away from the blast zone, thank the Light) and then, finally, Iacon's High Council-sanctioned station.

BREAKING NEWS: CENTRAL ENERGON REFINERY BOMBED, HUNDREDS DEAD, EXTENSIVE FOUNDATIONAL DAMAGE REPORTED

SUSPECTED ILLICICON INSURGENT CELL RESPONSIBLE

HIGH COUNCIL CALLS FOR MILITARY INTERVENTION

ENFORCERS ANNOUNCE MARTIAL LAW IN TYGER PAX

GLOBAL STATE OF EMERGENCY DECLARED

"I don't get it," Hawkmoon muttered. "I just... don't."

Nacelle glanced at her. He'd switched the television off; they'd heard enough. "Fuel's going to get scarce," he hollowly noted. "We're... we're going to have energon shortages. Tyger Pax saw to most of the offworld deliveries, funneled it through their refineries. Without that, we're..."

"There are others, though. Right?"

"You don't..." Cyberwarp frowned, then a wary sort of understanding - coupled with something else Hawkmoon couldn't identify - dawned on her faceplates. "Vello, right. It's not just the refineries; Tyger Pax was... well, it was an energon depot. The largest on Cybertron. It... it fuels - fueled - most of the planet."

"Oh." Hawkmoon blinked. That... wasn't good. "But... why bomb?"

"Illicicon Dissenters," Nacelle growled. "Because they live for it, that's why."

Hawkmoon glanced at Cyberwarp for a clearer answer. The other femme shrugged helplessly.

The next orn saw her marching through the deserted corridors of the Institute and directly to Contrail's office. She didn't bother knocking, just keyed in the access-codes and walked in, almost jostling poor Rook from his perch with her aggressive pace. Contrail was alone inside, helm bowed over a datapad and elbows propped on the edge of his desk, and he blearily looked up as she entered.

"You're supposed to be inside," he grumbled. "Staying put."

Hawkmoon fell into the chair in front of his desk and sighed, "What the frag is happening?"

"You're demanding a lot of me."

"Same with you."

"What with all I've done for you, maybe-"

"What the frag is happening out there?" Hawkmoon asked again. "Why are we-"

"Planetary energon reserves have taken a hit," Contrail growled out, lowering his optics back to the datapad. "They were already running thin as it was, but this... this hurts everyone."

"Why did the…"

"Illicicons."

"Yeah," Hawkmoon nodded. "Why'd they bomb it?"

Contrail gave her a piercing look. "Because the Tyger Pax energon repositories and refineries were under the jurisdiction of the Iaconian High Council, another chain with which to wrangle the rest of us into subservience. The Illicicons are anti-Councilists. Little better than vagabonds and hoodlums, and admittedly well-supplied ones at that, but they... they have ambitions beyond their stations."

"So-"

"The Illicicons are Power Dispersers. They want a return to the old order; for the individual city-states to see to their own matters, govern themselves however they see fit."

Hawkmoon narrowed her optics. "And where do we stand in all this?"

Contrail stayed quiet for a moment. "Unity is impossible," he eventually murmured. "Planetary unification will never happen on Cybertron. Iacon has been bold to attempt so, but... they'll never manage it. But we can't go back to a feudal world either. Not again. Our people almost destroyed themselves after the Quintesson wars, because no one could agree how to run things. What we have now is... not perfect, but better than the alternatives."

"I mean now. With Iacon losing their stranglehold on the energon business-"

"They have other means to assert their dominance," Contrail retorted, "but...yes. We're in a spot of trouble there."

Hawkmoon frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Cybertron's energon mines have long since been exhausted. The only ones still running are in Kaon, in the slave-pits, but that can barely fuel the city-state - let alone the planet. Luna-1 and Luna-2 are running dry as we speak. Most of our energon comes from offworld, outside of this very system."

"That's why we're here, right?"

Contrail nodded. "Seeker Elites," he said with a grimace. "Energon Seekers."

"So they need us," Hawkmoon surmised.

"Now more than ever. Iacon are demanding that we focus on increasing our recruitment drives, lowering the Institution's entry fees, things like that. And..." Contrail hesitated. "They're ordering us to cut down on how long the educational modules run for. They think we're a factory, filled with more puppets eager to take yet another bribe."

"They're paying?"

Contrail gave her a sharp look. "Whatever is said here," he said slowly, "cannot be uttered outside this room. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," Hawkmoon stiffly nodded.

"Good." He vented a sigh. "Yes. They're offering... investments. To buy shares. More power to them, in the end..."

"Are you going to say no?"

Contrail snorted. "The board is more than one mech, you know. Nothing will change if I say no. Not that it matters; none of us have a choice, really. Let Cybertron starve or throw ourselves into gilded manacles. Fragging terrorists..."

Hawkmoon winced. Rook jealously pecked at her neck, vying for her attention; she raised her servo to distract him, running her digits down his neck and back, smoothing over his coat of metallic feathers. He chirped happily and hopped down to the chair's arm, to give her easier access. "What now?" she softly asked.

Contrail groaned. "We're going to have to... expedite your training," he bitterly explained. "All of you. Iacon wants a new fleet ready to fly within the next quartex."

A quartex. Not even a full Sol year. Just a couple of Earth months, give or take a week or two. "That's... ouch."

Contrail grunted. "Ouch," he agreed.

AN: Big thanks to Nomad Blue for editing!

Damn, my muse is finally kicking into gear. I have next chapter already mostly written up too.