Chapter 58

"Shot in the Dark"

"-and thus, praxis." Orion finished. "To the Prime the Senate is the theory. You are the action. A censor. They are his input - they advise him, report their concerns and press their pleas. You are his output - you carry out his commands."

The rank of Emirate as described was fluid in nature, always in flux, and the privilege seemed almost to beggar belief. It was too much. Too much to inherit, too much to wield, separated by ancestral lines and ancient writ from the powerbase of Iacon's High Council. The only real downside was that her authority would stem entirely from Zeta Prime's personal powerbase. An Emirate was an extension of a Prime's will. It wasn't close to the top either, Orion had revealed her. There were other notches of rank overhead like Magnus and Maximus, but it was a far cry from the relative legal helplessness boasted by most civilians. The title carried power. Privatised power.

"The Senate," Hawkmoon mused. "Still weird to me."

"The High Council wants to reunite Cybertron."

"Under its own thumb. Iacon's seats still outnumber everyone else, right? And the Senatorium's conveniently on their home turf."

"It's... not a perfect system," Orion admitted. "But it's better than none. With Cybertron so interconnected there's less chance of inter-polity wars. No more. That's what Iacon is saying. No more fighting. No more killing."

"And what do they say about Kaon?"

Orion paused. His optics shuttered. "They don't," he sighed. "They don't say anything."

"'Course not."

"It's not something that can be fixed in a day. Kaon's... slavery, it's... it's institutionalised. The city's practiced it since before the Quintesson Wars."

"And no one's told them it's wrong?"

"Of course they did. Some of the Primes tried to stop it - to varying degrees, all with the same result." Orion winced. "Primes haven't interfered in inter-city politics since."

"Until Zeta Prime," Hawkmoon interjected.

"Until Zeta Prime, yes."

"He's pro-Iacon. Blatantly."

"Yes, and pro-caste. His predecessor passed those laws during the Rust Plague. Cybertron's still suffering for the Empire's fall."

"Maybe the cure's just as bad as the disease." Hawkmoon leaned back in her chair. "World's a fragging mess."

"You can help fix it."

"Sure. Provided ol' Prime doesn't tell me to jump in an acid lake first chance he gets."

"He wouldn't."

"No, not with everyone watching," Hawkmoon grumbled. "Got that going for me at least. Cameras in my faceplates everywhere I go."

"I can only imagine," Orion said sympathetically.

"It's annoying." She sighed. "They can't leave well enough alone. Like buzzards, the whole lot; they're scraping what's left of me apart, looking for that last big scoop."

"You should petition Senator Contrail. Ask him to increase your security."

"That's just more bother for us both. It really doesn't matter."

"You..." Orion trailed off, averting her optics.

"Go on," Hawkmoon said. She raised an optical ridge. "Say it."

"It was nothing."

"Say it, Pax."

He vented. "I don't intend to offend."

"I'm a big girl. I can take it."

"You... you don't like being in debt to anyone," Orion blurted. He still wasn't looking at her.

"He has a point," Augur purred from atop a stack of dataslates.

Hawkmoon shot him an annoyed look, then set her gaze back on Orion. "That's not true."

"Not when it means something."

"Does this not mean something?" Hawkmoon gestured to the datapad in her servo.

"Does it? Does it really matter to you?"

"It's useful."

"But you don't value it. You don't have to lie to me - please don't. You don't think it's worth anything and I can see it."

"Nothing's worthless," Hawkmoon murmured. "Buuuut... this won't help me in a scrap, so..."

"Why?"

"Hm?"

"Why does everything loop back around to fighting? Megatronus, Kaon, the Prime, Iacon." Orion grimaced. "I don't like it."

"The world's wrong."

"But it doesn't mean we have to turn to violence as a first resort."

Hawkmoon pressed her lips. "You're a pacifist."

"I'm an idealist," Orion argued with surprising vehemence.

"Sure. But it's easy being an idealist here," she waved around the room, "where you can pluck those ideals straight off a shelf."

"The archives are open-"

"To those with clearance, which ultimately boils down to those of the chosen caste to attend your university, or to enroll as a member of the Senate."

"You're neither."

Hawkmoon inclined her helm; he made a fair point. "I'm still elite. These wings on my back make it so - and barely at that. Rare's the Seeker who has to toil for fuel, but I've seen it nonetheless. Not even our pretty ol' city-state's fit enough for your ideals. Why doesn't Iacon beam these records to every other archive on the planet?"

No answer was forthcoming.

"Because living things are hoarders by nature," Hawkmoon continued. "And that's no crime. Not in itself. Not in moderation. The real crime comes when you take too much."

"I feel like we're veering into a different conversation altogether."

"We've got opinions. They want out."

"They do," Orion chuckled nervously. "But I don't know if we have the time."

"True." Hawkmoon sat up. "We'll put a pin in this, yeah? Save it for later?"

"...I'd prefer that."

She learned. Hawkmoon wasn't an easy study, but her Cyber-ware lent her some advantages in that regard. Simply looking at a text was enough for her HUD to transcribe the contents and load it up to her central processor. She all but lived and breathed the stuff. Some of it was - mildly - interesting too. The perks of the job were getting more and more attractive by the orn - 'least until the morning came when she was meant to put it all into action.

Contrail was there. His was the first set of faceplates she saw coming out of her room. He gave her a stern look.

"Yeah?" Hawkmoon challenged.

Contrail's stern expression fell apart. He vented hard. "This was a mistake."

"Little late for that."

"I shouldn't have..."

"What? Dragged me back? Or bothered letting me into the Institute in the first place?"

"The former." Contrail sat down on a couch. "You should've left this all behind."

"I did," Hawkmoon evenly replied. "I did exactly that, for all the good it did me. Now we've got a world to pull out of the scrapheap."

"You weren't like this when you left."

"Like what?"

"Ambitious."

"This isn't my ambition, Contrail. It's yours."

Contrail grimaced. "I know."

Hawkmoon vented and took the armchair opposite, all but sinking into the hard steel plate. She missed cushions. She missed mattresses and blankets and all those luxuries she'd taken for granted. "I mean, this is all we've got."

"You should've rejected my offer."

"Didn't seem like much of a request at the time."

"I'm sorry. Is that what you want to hear?"

Hawkmoon paused. "It's a start," she said quietly.

"Then... I am sorry." Contrail lifted his helm to look at her. "I am. I helped you out of a favour to Nightbeat, but you more than proved yourself up to the challenge. It should've gone differently. You shouldn't have suffered for it."

"Are we talking about... this? Or-"

"I'm talking about your trine."

"Oh." Hawkmoon scowled. "Not the kind of pep talk I need right now-"

"Hawkmoon," Contrailed groaned, "please."

"I don't want to talk about them. I've accepted it. I've moved on."

"Then why can't you let them go?"

"Why can't you?" Hawkmoon snapped back. "Because this conversation's to do with your guilt, not mine."

"I'm trying to help you come to terms."

"You're trying to help yourself. What do you want to hear? Do you want me to forgive you? For rushing us through training, for throwing us out into the void? Because I do, Contrail. I do forgive you. You couldn't have known. I'm not blaming you for that. I never did."

"Just the aliens."

"Just the aliens."

"You're clinging on," Contrail huffed. "That's not coping."

"I have to."

"You don't-"

"I do. Because this is my life. Because I need their memories to keep me going, keep me fighting. I... I've forgotten everything else and I don't want to remember. Not anymore. I didn't ask to be here, but here is where I am." Hawkmoon shuttered her optics. "Look, what's this about?"

"There's too much anger between us. I don't want to live with it any longer. We used to talk. We used to-"

"To be friends?" Hawkmoon guess.

"Yes." Contrail nodded, EM field flaring with relief. "I'd like to return to that."

"To be friends. Because we used to trust each other and you miss that? Or because you're a Senator now and I'm about to become an Emirate?"

"Do you really think I'm like that?"

"Yes."

Contrail shook his helm. "They don't have to be mutually exclusive."

"I'm tired, Contrail. I don't like this game."

"It's no game."

Hawkmoon sighed. "Alright."

"Alright?"

"Yeah. But I'm not going to play unless we're honest."

"Honesty can be brutal," Contrail said bluntly. "You haven't seemed to like it much."

"I like manipulation a whole lot less," Hawkmoon shot back.

"I'm not manipulating you."

"Sure. I'm willing to trust that. But only because I think you're in this mess for a good reason."

"I'm... flattered," Contrail hesitantly managed. "So..."

"So... what?" Hawkmoon tilted her helm. "Are you waiting to break out a friendship bracelet?"

"Where's this fire coming from?"

"Miss my manners?"

"What shockingly little you had, yes." Contrail's EM field relaxed. Still taut with tension, much like her own, but no longer a bastion for his emotions to hide behind.

Hawkmoon was almost tempted to follow suit. "Am I still an Energon Seeker?"

"Yes."

"And you're still... what, board member?"

"Yes. So technically I still outrank you."

"And after today?"

Contrail hesitated.

"I'm getting a 'sorta' vibe," Hawkmoon guessed.

"You'd be right."

"Funny."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not playing like that. We're on even ground. That and honesty - those are my terms."

"... I accept them," Contrail replied. "But I have terms of my own."

"Like?"

"Tonight, after everything's dealt with, you and I will sit down and talk about these aliens of yours. If you can't forget them then I suppose we'll have to figure something else out."

Hawkmoon blinked.

"Is that acceptable?"

"Yeah... yeah, that's acceptable." She nodded feverishly. "Thank you."

"Good." Contrail stood up. "Then it stands to reason we should get ready sooner rather than later."

From the moment they bridged back to the Hall of Records they were assailed - reporters everywhere. Skyquake and Dreadwing carved a path ahead with aid of the Senatorial Praetorians and Iacon's Enforcers. Lights flashed, cameras rolled, and Hawkmoon stiffly walked through the chaos at Contrail's side, Soundwave right behind. Chatter filled the air and her comms array was lobbed with queries, journalists all but begging for a word. Just the one. Looking for whatever morsel could fill the hours in between.

::Soundwave believes this'll be the most-watched broadcast since the fall of the energon refineries,:: Contrail explained ::There hasn't been an Emirate inaugurated in twenty-seven vorns, and only one still lives.::

::Who?::

::A glitch-ridden grounder named Xaaron, already well past his usefulness. Only in death or renouncement may the title be rescinded, and Zeta Prime hasn't yet found ground to cut the addle-helmed fragger loose. But you're different. You're exciting. You're a symbol now, Hawkmoon. What was lost can be found again.::

::Helluva inheritance,:: Hawkmoon muttered. She kept her optics trained on the end of the sprawling hallway. ::What's our schedule?::

::Stage is to be set in the next couple of breems. Yours is the focal point for the ceremony, but the Prime has other announcements to make. Rationing laws to pass, curfew limits for the equatorial cities; there are rumours he's about to introduce a new caste-orientated bill. I'm not sure what it pertains to.::

::Aren't you a Senator?::

::No one stands at level with the Prime,:: Contrail firmly told her. ::No one.::

Hawkmoon withheld the urge to make a face. ::This is his kingdom. And we're all his subjects.::

Contrail didn't reply. They made it into the wing reserved, at present, for the Vosian entourage. A pair of Praetorians ushered them in, all chrome and eerily prawn-like. If not for their electromagnetic fields Hawkmoon would've doubted they were Cybertronians in the first place. They carried on, deeper into the Hall, and at last ended in what amounted to a dressing room. Dystrexin, Alpha Trion, and Orion Pax were already waiting inside. Another pair of Seekers, slighter in build and lesser in standing, waited with buffers and wax pads.

"Aw frag," Hawkmoon cursed. She simply bowed her head and settled in the seat waiting for her, glowering as the Seekers set to work.

"How are you feeling?" Orion asked. Hawkmoon simply looked at him. He stopped smiling. "There's, uh, just some points I want to gloss back over."

"Gloss," Hawkmoon echoed. "Very funny."

"Oh, oh, that was an-"

She waved him off. "Gloss away, Pax."

"Right."

The waiting was the worst part. A door separated them from the open atrium of Iacon's Curia - a storied place, Alpha Trion informed her, where the last resident Judge of the Quintesson War fell. A place from which Primes since time immemorial regaled the masses of Cybertron with... what? Their dreams? Their decrees and their laws, rules by which to pen the public in? One or the other, but Alpha Trion dressed it up nicely. Hawkmoon had stopped listening by that point. She could hear him, hear them - those countless souls, baying for her favour - but it was all incoherent noise. Cybertronians were much like humans in that respect. When crowds formed they just... became animals. Vast colonies of instinct and feeling, screaming into the wind.

This was it. This was a Hunter's worst nightmare.

Zeta Prime finished his pretty speech. The door opened, the crowd fell silent. Alpha Trion ushered her on and Hawkmoon... she stepped out. Out into the golden light of Cybertron's sun, out onto the silvered stage clear of all but the Prime and the Prime alone, out into the open before thousands of optics and tens of thousands more abroad. It was crushing. The tension. It was suffocating.

For the umpteenth time Hawkmoon tried to breathe. She failed. She failed. She drowned on dead air, drowned on the memory of phantom lungs and a body long since decayed, drowned beneath the expectations of an entire watching world. Her steps did not falter but her EM field surged, it whipped like a tidal wave. Alpha Trion marched beside her; his was still, reserved, calm as an anchor lodged on the sea floor. It was all she could use to steady herself. It was the only thing keeping her from fleeing back, from taking flight out into the deep black and braving the frontiers once more.

"Easy," Augur whispered. He lathered over her shoulders, boneless and weightless, but the kneading of his claws into the steel of her pauldron - oh it was humbling. Lightning flashed but he kept her grounded.

"Sire," Hawkmoon said, and she drew up before Zeta Prime, falling to a knee, bowing her helm.

"Rise," Zeta Prime bade her.

Hawkmoon stood. The clamour of the crowds rose with her. She kept from looking at them; a glance would have ruined her. A touch jolted her out of her reverie. Zeta Prime had laid a servo on her shoulder. A show of support, of patronly care - but all Hawkmoon could feel was his EM field, so cold and cutting, filled with... loathing. Loathing. For her. For the plate nailed to her frame.

It was better than Alpha Trion. Augur couldn't compete. Hate... now there was something she could work herself around. Hawkmoon smiled and the crowd drank it in; Zeta Prime saw and oh, oh, his field fluxed with renewed distaste.

"Hawkmoon," he said. "Energon Seeker of Vos. Honoured warrior of Cybertron. You took to the stars for our salvation. You waged war for our preservation. You were lost to us for four vorns - and you persevered. Why?"

"For Cybertron," Hawkmoon replied. It was what Orion had instructed her to say. Her part in this was terse; a vehicle from the beginning, another reason for the Prime to hear himself speak.

"For Cybertron," Zeta Prime repeated. "Of course. You are dedicated. You are selfless. Do you know why you are here?"

"No, sire," Hawkmoon lied - and everyone knew and no one cared.

"Four vorns ago your formation leader, Swiftsear, did battle with the alien menace and tragically lost his life. In death I named him Emirate and those of his formation as Vidame as a tribute to noble Vos. Vos has ever been a friend to Iacon and to the Prime, and I reward dedication. Always!" Zeta Prime turned both himself and her to the roaring crowd.

It was worse than she'd feared. So many faceplates separated by a shimmering energy shield, so many lights, so much- No. No, she couldn't look. Hawkmoon's optics trailed up around the Curia to the towering buildings on all sides. A storied place, sure, but the city had outgrown it. It was only with the sun at its zenith that its light pierced through the silvered needles of skyscrapers ringing all around.

Augur shifted abruptly, standing right up. He sniffed the air.

"Always," Zeta Prime said again. "Swiftsear, beloved by all, lost his trine amongst the stars. He held no bond of the spark beyond those at his wing. By law of Vos, and creed of the Vosian Exploratory Institution, right of inheritance falls by way of formation. Of Swiftsear's formation only you remain. Of all those beneath his command, only you returned to us."

Hawkmoon retracted her field. Don't give in, she told herself. Don't give the fragger an excuse.

"By right of inheritance you stand to undertake this solemn duty in his stead. Will you do so?"

"I shall," Hawkmoon said.

A hologram flared to life overhead - Cybertron with all its city-states marked, their borders separated cleanly across the planet's scarred crust.

"Do you, Hawkmoon of Vos," Zeta Prime intoned, "before Primus and all His children, swear homage to His voice, to His hand, to His benign will in this universe?"

"I do."

Augur leapt down onto the stage, flicking his tails irritably. Hawkmoon ignored him.

"And do you, Hawkmoon of Vos-"

"Seeker..." Augur hissed. "Something is wrong."

"-to uphold the law of mecha and serve the will of Cybertron?"

"I... I do," Hawkmoon said. She glanced down at Augur, but the fox was sweeping to and fro, darting his head around in all directions.

Zeta Prime's field flickered with cautious annoyance. Concentrate, he seemed to say. "And do you-"

"Hawkmoon!" Augur snarled. Hawkmoon gave a start and followed his line of sight - to the translucent loping form of the Drezhari mongrel creeping in from un-space. She felt Zeta Prime's anger flare, heard the crowd murmur, but they weren't seeing, they weren't seeing the alien thing pulling itself through solid matter and the fabric of reality, they weren't seeing its body begin to glow with static, weren't seeing-

"Bomb!" Augur lunged - and the mongrel thing solidified, materialized at last, with the fox's jaws fading through its now corporeal throat.

"Down!" Hawkmoon twisted, threw out her arms and caught both Zeta Prime and Alpha Trion. They outweighed her by some margin but it was their surprise that took them off their feet - and nary with a moment to spare. A flush of momentary heat built up across Hawkmoon's back, but it was more than that. Her system fizzled, her sensors winked and her field all but dissipated, yet it was her Tai-forged shield that took the brunt of the electromagnetic disruption, imploding around her and sending her sprawling.

It wasn't even meant for her. Hawkmoon twisted around, disabling the shield to keep the backlash of Solar energy from melting her plate and thrusters, and scanned the stage. The mongrel was gone; not dead, but gone.

And so was the stage's shield.

"Hawkmoon!" Augur all but screamed. He bounded over, panting with alarm.

She saw it. She'd been conditioned to all her life. The flare-up of energy weapons - wire rifles, headhunters, soulfire wracks, the lot. The flash of light, scarcely imperceptible to the untrained optic, came from one of the towers. Opaque window, still intact - that was all she could pick up on. Hawkmoon didn't even turn to look at it directly. That would have wasted time. She moved, knowing her shield couldn't recharge in time, but Zeta Prime was there, he grabbed her arm to lever himself back up, too heavy to drag and too big to shake off so she pushed him onwards to the back of the stage, she pushed, she grabbed his pauldrons and pushed-

Until his grip went lax.

Until his energon splashed across her visor.

Until his faceplates lay in smoking pieces across the stage.

Until the disembodied roar of a high-yield energy lance reverberated along her audioreceptors. Her optics caught it in full. The frame-by-frame, microsecond by microsecond, swing of the red bolt hurtling through the air and kissed Zeta Prime's helm. Direct hit. Dead on the spot.

She let go. The Prime's body hit the floor with a dull clang. Hawkmoon turned to the tower, even as Praetorians swarmed the stage, and as her shield reformed she pointed.

"There," Hawkmoon whispered.

A second flash winked at her, but there was no follow-up shot. One moment it was there, and the next disappeared.

The closest Praetorians turned to engage. As one the shrimp-mecha raised their cannons and as one they fired in wordless unison. The window, no, the entire floor where the shooter was perched erupted, raining glass and steel down onto the crowds below. Someone screamed. It caught on fast. The stage was still open and the chaotic masses of panicked mecha seemed almost to rear up - a mountain of bodies waiting to wash over them all. Almost on cue Enforcers and guards spilled out from the shadows; Skyquake and Dreadwing were suddenly there, putting their bodies in between her and the city and ushering her back. A trio of Praetorians guided Alpha Trion ahead of her. The mech turned his helm, caught her gaze and schooled his faceplates into a cool mask. His EM field retracted fast - but not before she could taste the notes of shock, frustration, horror.

This was something new.

They gathered up in an office-bunker beneath the Hall of Records, Praetorians holding the doors. Contrail was there. Soundwave, Orion, Alpha Trion. Dystrexin looked Hawkmoon over, inspecting the char marks left by the EMP - she should've been on her way back to Vos but the groundbridges… someone had said the groundbridges were being shut down; there could've been other assassins at large.

"Are you alright?" Dystrexin asked frantically.

"Just some surface-level burns," Hawkmoon numbly replied. "Nothing substantial." Her optics wandered and landed on Augur stood alert by her side. His fur was on end, tails flicking frantically, and he bared his fangs at the miasma of other-space.

"Soul-shriven vermin," he growled lowly. "Dead-eyed curs."

"Archivist," Contrail said quietly, drawing Hawkmoon's attention. "This can't wait."

"It cannot," Alpha Trion gruffly agreed. He gathered himself up, shrugging away the Praetorian scanning his plate for injury. "Soundwave."

Soundwave's facescreen shifted and a light flickered along the side of his helm. "Soundwave: recording."

Contrail took Hawkmoon's shoulder and gently guided her over. His expression was grim but resolved - to such a degree she dared not argue. Not for argument's sake, in anycase. "Play along."

Hawkmoon frowned. "The Prime's dead, Contrail-"

"Then I must take his place," Alpha Trion interrupted. "To attention, Seeker."

She looked at him with confusion. "But the power of an Emirate-... wait."

He raised an optical ridge.

"You're... you're not."

"You don't know who I am?" Alpha Trion inquired near incredulously. "Really?"

Hawkmoon tried to access the Teletraan network but that was a lost cause - the whole thing was down across the city, an enforced blackout designed to flush out those with something to hide. She turned instead to her memories, combing through the logged files with a singular query. It didn't take her long to find it - lost in the seas of recollection preceding those vile moments, hidden beyond the spot of grief. Krenshan holdfast. Strada and Longhorn, beastformers. A shrine.

A thin mech in a cloak holding a datapad and a quill: "Alpha Trion, the first scribe."

"You're a Prime," Hawkmoon realized. "One of the Thirteen."

"Yes."

"Why didn't you say?"

"I don't care to flaunt my status before every lifeform I meet," Alpha Trion drily replied. "Time is short. Are you amenable, Seeker?"

"... Yes," Hawkmoon vented, still reeling and there wasn't just one reason why. "Yes, I'm amenable."

"Good. Then let us finish this." Alpha trion paused. "Do you, Hawkmoon, swear before Primus and all His children, swear homage to His voice, to His hand, to His wrath in this universe?"

"I do."

"And do you, Hawkmoon, swear to the depths of your spark to uphold the law of mecha and serve the will of Cybertron?"

"I do."

"And do you, Hawkmoon, swear to the ends of your ability to guard the realm of Cybertronians and defend them from threats both extrasolar and domestic?"

"I do."

"Then I proclaim you an Emirate of Cybertron, Third of Vos." Alpha Trion glanced at Soundwave. Soundwave dipped his helm.

"Recording: uploaded to public broadcast," he reported. How he had access, Hawkmoon had no idea.

"Here," Alpha Trion said, and he beamed her a set of updated permissions. The glyphic message Welcome Emirate swung across her HUD moments before her firewalls could catch up. "Well done."

Hawkmoon gave him a blank look. "The Prime's dead."

"Aren't you fortunate," he evenly replied.

"You about to step up?"

"It's not my place. I've overextended my authority here as it is." Alpha Trion looked over to Contrail. "This complicates matters."

"And then some," Contrail sullenly agreed. "Do we know what happened?"

"There was a drone of some sort."

"A Drezhari construct carrying an EMP disruptor," Hawkmoon cut in. "It fuzzled the shield generators, left an open shot."

"Did you say Drezhari?" Contrail pressed. "Drezhari? Are you sure?"

"It had the optics," she said. "The helm. The... the everything. It looked like one of them."

"Share the memory."

Hawkmoon beamed the footage across shortband. She made no move to hide it; everyone in the room could it see it if they so desired. For a moment, and one too late, she realized they'd probably see Augur too-

"I don't recognize the frame-type," Contrail admitted. "It's not Drezhari. Not as I know them."

Or… apparently not.

"It has the features..." Hawkmoon paused. "What else could it be?"

"I don't know. How did it get there?"

"It appears to be equipped with a stealth-field," Alpha Trion murmured. "Of a quality I've seldom encountered."

"What happened to it?" Orion asked. "Where did it go?"

"I don't know," Hawkmoon admitted. "Too much interference. Could've been a transmat job, keep the evidence out of our servos."

"The assassins knew their craft," Dystrexin mused. She stopped beside Contrail. "The sound, the beam configuration. Contrail-"

"Stygian-type rifle," Contrail finished. "Anti-armour, anti-personnel. Rare hardware, illegal in most city-states and strictly monitored in the rest."

Hawkmoon's wings lowered, then propped up again. Her spark thrummed erratically, still riding out the exhilaration and panic - she'd come so close to dying. Shield gone, open target. Her blasted bare-minimum luck had held, and only just. She hadn't been the target. The sniper was steady, precise, and they'd gotten exactly what they wanted. "Has this ever happened before?" she asked.

"Twice in all of Cybertron's history," Alpha Trion told her. "And never so blatantly."

"The whole city saw..." Hawkmoon vented. "Pit, the whole world."

No one replied. They were all thinking the same thing. Hawkmoon sat down, bracing her wings against the wall; the discomfort was a distraction. Not a good one, but it was all she had at the moment - and a moment was right because Augur wandered back over and brushed against her arm.

"They gambled," he whispered, pressing against her side. "They lost."

Didn't seem that way to her.

"I should have been more proactive." Augur bristled. "The corpse-machines are devious, but I never anticipated to this degree."

Hawkmoon lifted her arm and curled around him, gathering him against her chassis. Augur sighed and climbed up to her shoulder. He prodded the side of her helm with his snout.

"They serve their angel, and the angel serves the other side. It was foolish to think they'd not intervene. Your people are influential even unto their fading glory. There's opportunity to be found here, and not only for us."

But they'd failed. They'd failed because if they'd thought to stop her then it was for naught.

It's done now, Hawkmoon thought. It's done and I've got my influence. I've got my promotion and the Prime is dead. The Prime is dead. She raised her servos, still stained blue with energon. The Prime... is dead.

But why?

An orn passed them by before the Praetorians declared the grounds safe enough for them to emerge. Dystrexin rushed to make it back to the Vos groundbride while they were escorted elsewhere. The prawns hurried them into a different, larger antechamber where a number of ranking mecha awaited - some of them Enforcers, some of them cut from even finer cloth.

"Senator Halogen," Contrail said stiffly. He politely inclined his helm. ::Watch your words,:: Contrail warned her. ::Halogen leads the Iacon Senatorial Party.::

The lead mech returned the gesture. "Senator Contrail, High Archivist, Emirate Hawkmoon." He turned to her. "Congratulations are in order. I would have preferred to meet under kinder circumstances."

"Yeah, shame," Hawkmoon muttered. She eyed the nearby Enforcer critically. "Why didn't security sweep the nearby buildings?"

"I'm eager to learn that myself," Halogen explained. "That's why I'm here."

One of the Enforcers approached and saluted. "Sirs, ma'am," he said. "My designation is Obsidian, Chief Commissioner of Iacon Law Enforcement. I understand that what happened today may have frightened you, but rest assured my mecha will-"

"How," Alpha Trion interrupted, "did this happen, officer?"

"Sir?"

"How did this happen? Did your mecha not search the adjacent facilities?"

"They did, sir," Obsidian said stiffly. "And the shooter's quarters were disguised as a janitorial closet. The door was locked and soldered shut."

"And did this not strike your subordinates as alarming?"

"...It did not, sir."

Alpha Trion vented softly. "This does not inspire confidence. Have you secured the shooter's remains?"

Obsidian and Halogen shared a look. "There are no remains, sir," Obsidian hesitantly explained. "We... we believe the shooter escaped."

There was a heavy pause. Each and every EM field present radiated alarm.

"You must be joking," Contrail growled.

"My mecha found a fresh borehole in the chamber," Obsidian continued. "The shooter must have readied it mere breems before the deed."

"They escaped?!"

"Yes sir."

"And you haven't caught them?"

"No sir."

"Oh you buffoon-"

"What kind of borehole?" Hawkmoon cut in. "What tools did they use?"

"Plasma cutters, ma'am," Obsidian answered, relieved at the change in subject.

"Do we know what kind?"

"The hole was circular, clean-cut. They sliced into the ventilation systems and broke out at the second floor - there was another borehole there, fresher than the last."

"Just as clean?"

"No ma'am."

"So they were in a rush," Hawkmoon mused. "Where did they go next?"

Obsidian hesitated.

"Where, officer?"

"We believe the shooter took the waste disposal chute down into the Undercity."

"Then you've lost them," Contrail said sullenly.

"My mecha are still searching, sir," Obsidian defended. "I'm certain they'll find something."

"Not if the assassin took to the other plane," Augur sniffed. "These poor creatures don't have an inkling."

"The shooter didn't cut themselves on the way?" Hawkmoon inquired. "No energon signature?"

"No ma'am," Obsidian told her. "They did not."

"What about residual particles left by the weapon? A high-intensity beam like that should need to vent excess heat."

"We detected some traces," Obsidian admitted, "but nothing definitive. Weapon of choice appears to have been a Stygian-charged anti-personnel longrifle."

Hawkmoon shared a look with Contrail. "We suspected the same," she revealed. "But I've been led to believe possession of those weapons is closely monitored."

Obsidian hesitated. "They... they are, ma'am."

"You don't seem so sure."

"I am, ma'am, but only for those with custody in the northern hemisphere."

"So not the south."

"Not... exactly, ma'am." Obsidian grimaced. "Law and order don't carry the same weight below the equator."

"Where civility runs thin," Halogen said. He nodded sympathetically. "We understand, officer-"

"No, we don't," Hawkmoon snapped. "The Prime is dead, Senator." She turned back to Obsidian. "And on your watch."

Obsidian watched her warily. "Ma'am, please-"

"Of course it's not alright," Halogen interceded. His EM field pulsed outwards with a plea for calm. "This calls for immediate action. Petition the Praetorians for aid in combing the Undercity."

"Are you mad?" Contrail growled. He stepped forward. "The Praetorians are soldiers. There'll be violence. Civilian deaths-"

"The rabble can grumble all they like," Halogen retorted, "but the Prime's justice comes first. Don't you agree, Archivist?"

Alpha Trion said nothing.

"The killer cannot be allowed to escape," Halogen continued. "There is no higher crime. Justice will prevail."

"They've had an orn," Hawkmoon muttered. "They're probably well on their way into the next polity."

"My Enforcers won't rest until the killer is found," Obsidian vowed. "They will not escape."

"They already have."

"Not far enough, ma'am. Never far enough." Obsidian saluted, turned on his heel and stiffly marched away.

"What happened today..." Halogen trailed off and looked at Contrail. "The Senate convenes this off-cycle."

"I've already been informed," Contrail said.

"You'll be expected to give testimony, Contrail. I should hope it will prove illuminating."

Contrail didn't reply.

"Regardless." Halogen turned to Hawkmoon. "An honour, Emirate. My office is always open to the Prime's adjudicators. Primus willing, we'll find accord yet." He left them as abruptly as Obsidian had.

Hawkmoon scowled. "What now?"

"Vos," Contrail croaked. "Return to Vos. Soundwave-"

"What, that's it?" she said incredulously.

"That's it. Your part here is done."

"My part here is whatever I decide," Hawkmoon shot back. "I'm an Emirate. Last I checked that gives me footing of my own."

Contrail grimaced. "You don't need to remind me." He looked in Alpha Trion's direction. "Sir?"

Alpha Trion blinked. "Pardon?"

"Is everything-" Contrail winced. "No, everything is not well."

"No. It isn't." Alpha Trion vented deeply. He glanced at Hawkmoon. "My advice to you is the same of the Senator: go home."

"Vos isn't my home," Hawkmoon said quietly.

"All the same-"

"All the same I'd do no more good there than I would here. Worse, actually." Hawkmoon clasped her servos together. "The drone - it was Drezhari. I'm sure of it. And-"

"Be careful what you tell them," Augur warned.

"-... I feel like I could do something about it," Hawkmoon weakly finished.

Contrail's optical ridges furrowed. "'Do something'? Like what?"

"I know how to track people. Mecha. I could try-"

"You might have better luck pitching your services to the Chief Commissioner," Contrail said, "because, as you've pointed out, I have no power over you."

"Just every little secret."

"Secrets I'll take to the Well of Sparks."

"Contrail. I'm being serious."

"As am I. I'm not the mech you're looking for."

"Right. Just the Enforcer I gave hell."

"You don't have to beg him." Contrail gave her a dry look. "When have you ever asked for permission?"

"Senator..." Alpha Trion warned.

"I'm not endorsing this," Contrail said quickly. "But-"

"I get it." Hawkmoon straightened. "I'll report everything I learn."

"And nothing more."

"I'll be fine."

"Political immunity does not render you immortal." Contrail looked past her. "Dreadwing will remain with you."

"Give me Soundwave."

Contrail raised an optical ridge. "Denied. Soundwave is needed here."

"Orion."

"Orion is not yours," Alpha Trion sharply cut in.

"But I'll be happy to help," Orion said.

"No." Alpha Trion turned on him. "Return to the Hall, instruct the Praetorians that the premises are to remain closed."

"... Yes, sire." Orion sheepishly bowed his helm and made a quick exit.

"That doesn't leave me with many options," Hawkmoon grumbled.

Contrail huffed. "I'm not bartering my own personnel. Dreadwing shall suffice - he's security. Your wellbeing matters more than this assassin."

"You sure? Because the clout it'll give us if we catch them..."

"This isn't a beastformer blood hunt!" Contrail snapped. "There is no glory in this. They killed the Prime! You could be next."

"That will not happen, sire," Dreadwing interjected. "Not while I function."

Contrail dipped his helm. "Watch over her."

"I'm not a sparkling," Hawkmoon objected.

"Just our hope. Remember that." Contrail grimaced. "I have to prepare. Dystrexin..." He fell silent and indicated for Soundwave and Skyquake to follow. Both did so without a word, though Skyquake spared his brother a meaningful look.

"I have my own duties to attend to," Alpha Trion murmured. He spared her a dubious look. "I recommend leaving it for now. Let the Enforcers make progress on their own terms."

"The assassin-"

"May well be captured in the time it takes for tempers to cool. Give yourself time to consider your next venture carefully. Stay safe, Emirate."

Hawkmoon sighed and nodded. "Archivist." He took his leave. Only Dreadwing - and little Augur - remained.

"Ma'am?" Dreadwing inquired.

Hawkmoon lowered her wings. "I've got a call to make. Does the Hall have an interplanetary transceiver?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Show me."

"The interplanetary transceiver," a stuffy old mech huffed, "is closed."

"Let's pretend otherwise."

"Listen here, Seeker-"

"Emirate. Or ma'am. Either or works for me, but not neither." Hawkmoon smiled. "Can I come in?"

The mech blinked. "I'm not sure-"

Dreadwing barged past and threw the door open, shouldering the mech out of the way. He held out an arm in welcome. "Ma'am."

"Be thanking you." Hawkmoon stepped past, ignoring the other mech's spluttering protests. She made a sound analogous to whistling in sheer appreciation - the chamber within was spacious, the walls and ceiling ovoid in nature and lined with dozens of holoscreens. The very floor lit up at their approach, lights flashing in the glass-cast surface beneath Hawkmoon's pedes. "Helluva setup."

"Ma'am!" The mech rushed up in front of her. "These grounds are off-limits-"

"Emirate," Hawkmoon repeated. "Off-limits except for me."

"The equipment here is delicate-"

"I won't break anything. So long as you be a dear and help us out."

The mech glowered - but the look fell when Dreadwing stepped up beside her, his battleplates sliding into place. "Will of the Prime," Dreadwing growled.

"The Prime is dead," the mech nervously retorted. "I'm sorry, ma'am-"

"I know he's dead," Hawkmoon said sharply. "I was there."

The mech fell silent.

"What's your designation?"

"... Perceptor, ma'am."

"Perceptor. There's someone I need to speak with, but they're some lightyears away. Can this station help me?"

Perceptor hesitated. "Not a call," he said at last. "The transceiver won't operate unless there's a relay node of near-equal quality to catch the transmission. That's all we can manage. Given the distances... Do you have a destination in mind?"

"Penchant," Hawkmoon answered. "Any Eimin-Tin holding would do, but preferably Penchant itself."

"That's... that's by the Divide." Perceptor took a moment. His optics flashed - calculating the movement of celestial bodies, the strength of the transmission to ensure the message's cohesion, and chance of the signal even reaching the target in the first place. He had the frame of an analyst shelled beneath the plate of an Iaconian. "It's within the parameters of feasibility. But with the war..."

"Is it possible?"

"Of course, ma'am."

"Can you make it a certainty?"

Perceptor hesitated again.

"I just need to get this done and I'll be out of your servos," Hawkmoon assured him. "I promise."

"Alright, but... I need to log this." Perceptor bowed his helm.

"That's fine. I don't care who you tell. Just-" Hawkmoon raised a single digit. "The contents remain private. I don't want anyone butting in on my chit-chats."

"That..." Perceptor sighed. "Of course, ma'am."

"I'd be pretty peeved if it's not."

"You have my word."

Hawkmoon nodded - and paused. "Now, just to clarify, you do work here, right?"

"Yes."

"Credentials," Dreadwing barked. "Now."

Perceptor's optics flickered. "Will that suffice?"

Dreadwing turned to her. He said nothing, simply inclined his helm.

"Yeah, that works." Hawkmoon clasped her servos together. "So... where do we start?"

Perceptor walked over to one of the active terminals. "The Eimin-Tin have few transceivers but Penchant is loaded with most of them. Their technology is compatible with our own. My only concern..."

"Is?"

"I don't mean to pry, ma'am, but you do understand that the Stratocracy is at war?"

"With the Drezhari Acquiestical, I know."

"Does this... pertain to the war?"

Hawkmoon shot him a warning look.

"Forgive me, Emirate." Perceptor averted his optics. "I have a lock on Penchant. Probability of message reaching their listening posts is... 79%. Do you have a recipient in mind?"

"Overseer Thema, to be delivered to Elulim, Akildn."

Perceptor nodded. "I see." He stepped away. "The shorter the message, the higher chance of success."

"That's fine." Hawkmoon waved him away. She typed in but a single sentence. Site Reus was just the beginning. She locked it in. "Finished."

Perceptor took over. "Transmitting now." The walls trembled; the lights in the floor crawled up the ceiling, flashing an assortment of colours. It built and built and built... and culminated in a single wailing hum that drew on for nearly a whole breem.

The aftermath, in drastic comparison, was a sudden gulf of silence.

"Will that be all?" Perceptor inquired.

"Yeah, that's it." Hawkmoon made to leave but stopped. "If any reply comes through I want to know." She beamed him her comm codes. "Thank you."

Perceptor vented. "Of course, ma'am."

"Dreadwing." Hawkmoon left the transceiver behind. "I'll need quarters here."

"Alpha Trion will doubtless supply us with a local suite," Dreadwing told her. His vocabulator was all gruff, with none of the enthusiasm of his brother.

"Good." Hawkmoon spared Augur a pointed look. "We'll talk with Obsidian again tomorrow."

AN: Thanks to Nomad Blue for the editz!

Been rushing to top off a couple of chapters for different things, just to get my ducks in a row before Baldur Gate hits.