Chapter 59

"Seraph's kiss"

"I'm here to oversee your operation," Hawkmoon said.

Obsidian frowned. "On whose orders?"

"None."

"Ma'am, this operation is mine."

"I'm not taking it from you, just making sure it gets done right."

Obsidian opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. "I mean no offense-"

"'Course you don't."

He trailed off.

"Is that it?" Hawkmoon raised an optical ridge.

"Permission to speak freely?"

"Granted."

"You don't have the experience. You don't have the skillset."

"To do what, Commissioner? To make sure you give this your all? You didn't search the Curia thoroughly enough. My faith in you is shaken to say the least."

"Ma'am, that isn't fair-"

"The Prime is dead because your mecha were too lax to sweep the whole area," Hawkmoon snapped. "You don't have the right or authority to refuse me."

"This is my operation," Obsidian said quietly. He sat down, servos folded on top of his desk, and gave her an unhappy look. "Senator Halogen charged me with bringing the assailant into Senatorial custody."

"As I said, I'm not taking it from you. I'm just shadowing you every step of the way."

"I... I see. I understand, ma'am." He warily raised an optical ridge. "Is that all?"

"You have teams searching the Under-City?"

"Yes."

"I want access to your network," Hawkmoon told him, "You're to send me a report by the onset of the off-cylce, I want to be updated on every relevant development that comes your way, and I want an officer to show me the crime scene."

"Yes ma'am. I'll call for one now."

The assigned officer's designation was Barricade. He scarcely stood up to her elbows but he cut a mean frame, all lithe and sharp. His plating was a tasteful black and white and the Enforcer sigil was stamped firmly on his chest. He took one look up at her with a set of violet optics and nodded to himself.

"Noble Emirate," he greeted awkwardly. "Obsidian instructed me to guide you through-"

"Let's go." Hawkmoon stepped back out into the hall, ignoring the stares of those coming and going. Her arrival place had been hassle enough, what with the landing pads swamped with those vying for permissions to leave the city's airspace. The whole of Iacon was on lockdown and no one was happy about it.

"We can take a dropship to the Curia." Barricade hurried to match her longer strides, but a growl from Dreadwing kept him at a distance.

"Armoured?" Hawkmoon asked.

"Of course."

"I'll fly free."

Barricade hesitated. "Of course, ma'am."

::Is that wise?:: Dreadwing whispered.

::I don't trust these mecha,:: Hawkmoon replied. ::We're out of range of domestic EMPs anyways. My shields'll hold.::

::If you insist.::

"I'll link you into comms," Barricade told her. "You can follow our heading."

"Got it." Her comms system buzzed with updated permissions.

They emerged in the precinct's hangar. Barricade made for one of the closer transports, already loaded up with Enforcers. Hawkmoon followed after him and glanced at the dropship's prow. "How's the air traffic?"

"Clear, ma'am," it replied. "'side from spire-space."

"Why's that?"

"Just is."

"Thought the city was on lockdown?"

The dropship grunted. "They pay for the privilege."

::Aristocrats,:: Dreadwing murmured. ::It's the same everywhere.::

::Figured. Are we part of that clique?::

::You are.::

::Had to be a silver lining somewhere.:: Hawkmoon motioned to the sky beyond the hangar bay. "Lead the way."

The dropship closed its boarding ramps and rose into the air. Hawkmoon transformed and followed it outside, Dreadwing on her tail. The city below them was relatively quiet; absolutely everything had ground to a halt since Zeta's demise. It was like Iacon wasn't sure what to do next - mourn or carry on, business as usual.

They flew through the sky-rending towers that crowned the city's core and landed in front of the high-rise opposite the Curia. A couple of officers were waiting for them by the door, alongside a short blue mech gilded in silver. The latter was wringing his servos nervously, but they dropped to his side as Hawkmoon touched down.

"Madam Seeker!" he greeted, vocabulator cracking. "I am honoured-"

"Who's this?" Hawkmoon looked to Barricade as he disembarked..

"This is Fragment," Barricade explained. "Custodian of Complex 112. The property is under his directorial supervision, authorised by the High Council three vorns ago."

"Right." Hawkmoon turned back to Fragment. "I'm here to see the scene."

"I-I understand madam."

"You know the room?"

"I do, madam, though I wish this business had never come to pass." If he'd been human Fragment would've been sweating. As it was, his small grounder engine was working up a storm. It was starting to annoy her.

"Who leased it?"

"Madam we do not know. They did not provide a designation."

"They didn't provide a designation?" Hawkmoon repeated incredulously. "How did this fly under your radar?"

"They leased the room some decaorns in advance, ma'am," Fragment protested. "And, uh, our chief administrator had taken emergency leave while our security systems finished updating. An honest mistake."

"Honest mistakes don't leave mecha dead."

Fragment closed his mouth, optics wide. He bowed his helm low.

"The frag are you doing?" Hawkmoon scolded. "Straighten up. I want to see where the sniper was staying - is the room open?"

"O-of course, madam. I'll-"

"You'll do nothing. The Enforcers will show me."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Yes. This administrator - are they back yet?"

Fragment hesitated. "They are not on the premises, no."

"Why not?"

"We've ordered most of the staff to stay away," Barricade quietly told her. "Obsidian wants the crime scene to remain untouched."

"Have you interviewed them?"

"Some."

"Some?"

"The staff number a little over four hundred," Barricade explained. "We haven't the time to cycle through them all, though we've covered those who worked on the assassin's floor."

Hawkmoon grimaced. "That'll have to do. But all the same send for the administrator. I want to talk to them."

"Understood."

"What's their designation?"

"Azimuth," Fragment answered. "I will send for her-"

"No." Hawkmoon raised a servo. "This is Enforcer business. Don't interfere. You may engage where invited, but no more. Barricade, have someone escort Azimuth here. No detours."

Barricade gestured to the Enforcer dropship. It took the air once more. "It will be done, ma'am."

"Good. Now show me the shooter's room."

It was scarcely more than a closet with a couple of shattered windows and a door pulled out with a plasmacutter. The solder work was still there, on the edge of the frame. Right in the middle of the room, leading to a ventilation shaft too small for Hawkmoon to enter, was the assassin's hastily-sliced borehole. The handiwork was uneven, panicked; they wanted to escape. They wanted to live.

Shards of glass covered the floors, cracking under her pedes. Ash coated everything. The walls were scarred with heat - the whole place had taken a beating. Those golden boys had some pretty incredible firepower at their disposal. Made her job that little more difficult, though she understood the sentiment. She'd been pissed off too when someone killed her boss. Angry enough to carve a swathe through pirates and ghouls and every other lurking horror hidden in the Reef. But that wasn't to say she approved of it either. It was a messy job, what those Praetorians had done. An outburst of emotion; no tact, no efficiency. They'd been provoked and they'd been played and now their quarry was with the wind.

"Get out," Hawkmoon ordered. Barricade ducked out the door, but Dreadwing remained. She looked at him. "You too. Humour me."

He begrudgingly inclined his helm and stepped back into the hallway outside.

"There we are," Hawkmoon muttered in Tai. "Augur?"

Augur jumped down from her shoulders and sniffed the air. "A troubled soul was here."

"You can smell that?"

"Sense it. Living beings leave behind psychic imprints when sufficiently pressed."

"Like those red shadows."

"In a manner. Those are proactive phenomena driven by traumaphagical vice; what I am detecting is reactive, an unconscious byproduct."

"So what kind of imprints?"

Augur flicked his tails. "Drive. Sheer force of will, sharpened to a singular goal: kill."

"The Prime? Or..."

"Who do you think?"

"... Zeta," Hawkmoon murmured. "They wanted Zeta. They had a clean shot at all three of us and they chose the Prime."

"You evaded them."

"No, I just got lucky." She stood up and stepped over to the window. "Helluva vantage point. Angle's..." She looked down at the ground and scraped the ash aside with her pede. "Scuff marks in the floor. They had a bipod here. Fantastic view but nothing to keep a rifle steady."

"Cybertronians are strong and energy weapons seldom recoil."

"Depends on the weapon. Not familiar with Stygians but I know a linear fusion rifle when I see it - and yeah, those things kick like a fucking mule." She stepped back and imagined bracing an oversized Veist rifle against her shoulder. "No."

"No?"

"I mean, yeah, it's a linear fusion but this is..." Hawkmoon bent her knees. "They were smaller than I am. Not by much though."

"How can you tell?"

"Because I'm reviewing the footage. Perks of a computer for a brain. They shot from... here. And to keep their aim steady they would've held their gun like so." Hawkmoon acted it out. Augur sat back on his haunches and watched, his vulpine head tilted bemusedly. "Either they were a short Seeker or a relatively tall grounder." She glanced at the borehole. "My money's on a grounder. Seeker would've died of claustrophobia getting through there, say nothing about fitting their wings."

"A rare grade of rifle closely monitored by local authorities," Augur mused, "and now we have the killer's build."

"There's so many grounders in this city, though, and whoever it was would've done away with the Stygian."

"Are you certain?"

"Mostly. Never did my dirty work in a living city," Hawkmoon admitted, "but I've known people who have. Populated areas, anyways. Towns and camps and the like."

"A dark business," Augur muttered.

"Bloody," she agreed. "But it's just too obvious. Killer would know the gun's recognizable. They'd lose it quick - not even sell it, just... dismantle it down to the base components and bury it across the city. Then it's just a matter of buckling in and waiting for the lockdown to pass."

"And it will."

"'Course. No petty killer can top an angry mob," she muttered. "High Council aren't that deluded."

"That is what gives me pause. Aggressive politicking is an environment that gives rise to opportunists. This chaos may be to their advantage."

"Can't see why… but I know who else might."

"The Drezhari," Augur growled. "Corpse-machines."

"We need to find that drone's remains."

"It isn't here. I have checked. Perhaps the assassin collected it?"

"... No," Hawkmoon decided. "No. The assassin went the whole nine yards to get out of this place. If they had the ability to hop into the next dimension over... no. Either the drone was collected by someone else or... or it made its own escape. As it is there's no way we can track them."

"But we know where it's been."

Hawkmoon grimaced. "Vos."

"And why would that be?"

"... Us." She looked at Augur with alarm. "So this is about us."

"I fear so." Augur sat down. "The Drezhari and their icon took notice at the Freeport. They know what we are. They know from whence we came. They know what we seek."

"And what's that, Augur?"

"The means to destroy them."

"Cybertron doesn't have that power."

"No, but it's a start - you've convinced me as much."

"So if this is about us..." Hawkmoon frowned. "Hold on."

"What?"

"The shooter's been in here a while."

"Yes," Augur said thoughtfully. "They have."

"But arrangements to make me an Emirate were only recent. I mean, the Prime was supposed to have his speech anyways, make his announcements and all, but if this is about us then... then it seems like one big coincidence, doesn't it?"

"You think the assassin and the drone are not related?"

"They can't be. This doesn't make any sense."

"It does not," Augur mused. "Curious."

"Got that right." Hawkmoon retreated to the door and peeked out. Barricade and Dreadwing were in low conversation down the hallway. "Officer!"

Barricade turned. "Ma'am?"

"How long was the assassin in here?"

"Um..." His optics dimmed. "Dating on the soldering fragments puts it around... four decaorns ago."

"Right. I'll be back." Hawkmoon swung back into the room. "Four decaorns. That's longer than I've been planetside."

"Most curious," Augur said. "Then why was the drone in Vos?"

"Maybe the Drezhari had already set this up, but they needed an asset already stationed on Cybertron to check on us. Make sure we weren't up to anything."

Augur's eyes glimmered. He'd caught something. "And when was that?"

"When-" Hawkmoon vented hard. "Right, yeah. We saw the little shit when those mecha came to grab me. Vosian Weapons Division."

"Which presently resides in Iacon."

"You think the Drezhari orchestrated that too?"

"We can never be sure, but... yes. I do."

"Well. Shit." Hawkmoon crossed her arms. "That's not comforting."

"It makes sense."

"Does it? Thought Weapons Division only want me because..." Hawkmoon paused. "Because I have one of their weapons projects installed in my chassis. A weapon effective against them. Those dark ships."

"A chassis you came to inhabit."

"... yeah." Hawkmoon looked down at herself. The urge to breathe resurfaced. She smothered it quick.

"But it is not yours."

"It is."

"Not in the beginning. You did not steal from the Weapons Division."

Hawkmoon turned to him. "Augur..."

"Do you know whose flesh you wear?"

"Her designation was Cloudbreaker. Can we stop?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm only just starting to get over my body dysmorphia. I really don't want to think about some dead girl."

"It's true."

"Doesn't mean it's right."

"Did you kill her?"

"What?" Hawkmoon frowned.

"Did you kill Cloudbreaker?" Augur patiently asked.

"Traveler above I hope not."

"Did you?"

"I don't think so. I just... woke up. She'd crashed into the Sea of Rust. Probably still running from the Weapons Division."

"Why?"

"Why did she crash?"

"Why did she run?"

Hawkmoon absorbed that. "How does that figure into any of this? She stole from them. That's it."

"Iacon's Enforcers will tear the city apart looking for the killer. We can only offer so much aid, but there are other angles to look at this. The drone is the key. If it was present for both the assassination and your attempted capture, then there may be a link between the two."

"So... what?"

"That Seeker who ordered you captured. " Augur lowered his head, deep in thought. "What was his name..."

"Bitstream?"

"Yes! He tried to remove you from the palace. You spared his life."

"Took his wing, Augur. Probably won't be happy about that."

"Threaten to remove the other. Perhaps then he'll talk."

Hawkmoon winced. "Yeah. Maybe."

"Question him."

"I'm sure Prince's staff have already tried."

"They are Cybertronian. You, in truth, are not. You may be able to elicit a different response. Additionally," Augur continued, "there is another Seeker we can ply for answers, though she may not be forthcoming."

"Cloudbreaker," Hawkmoon whispered.

Augur nodded. "Cloudbreaker."

"You want to peek into her old life? That'll look suspicious."

"You have confessed to being an amnesiac."

"To some. The rest of the world thinks I'm from a frontier town." She sighed. "I mean, I guess we could try?"

"Good."

"But I don't want to, Augur. Better to live in ignorant bliss."

Augur growled. "Ignorance is the slow death of civility. You have nothing to blame yourself for. A killer you may be, but you do not ply your trade unto the innocent."

"Yeah," Hawkmoon muttered. "Because that makes me feel so much better."

"It's irrational."

"Human beings in a nutshell."

"You say it as if you are one."

"Aren't I? Technically?"

"No. You're just lost."

"... Wow. Okay. Great." Hawkmoon shuttered her optics. "Thanks Augur. Fucking prick."

Augur huffed. "We're losing time. Take your findings back to the Enforcers."

"What, all of them?"

"Those regarding the killer. Any description may help find them."

"And then what? Back to Vos?"

"For Bitstream. And Cloudbreaker."

"Alright. Okay." Hawkmoon rolled her pauldrons. "Vos it is. I'll call for a groundbridge later. We still have that administrator to talk to."

The Enforcers met her halfway, bringing Azimuth up to a lounge on the second floor. Hawkmoon was already there, waiting. Someone had brought her a pink-tinted energon cube earlier. Gave her a delicious electrical buzz. She watched out of the corner of her optic as Dreadwing scanned Azimuth for weapons. The femme was a grounder, all grey and black with little ornamentation. There was a solemn air about her, rippling out from her EM field.

::Clear,:: Dreadwing reported. Azimuth slid into the seat opposite her.

"So." Hawkmoon leaned forward, propping her elbows onto the table. Her wings twisted, trying to work out the cricks; grounder furniture was hell to live with. Returning to Vos was quickly becoming an attractive prospect. "Just to be sure, you're Azimuth?"

"I am, Emirate," Azimuth replied. Her voice was toneless, almost robotic.

"You work here?"

"I do."

"Do you understand why I've summoned you?"

"I believe so. I'm the chief administrator. The Prime's killer leased a room here while I was updating the building's accounting and security systems, and I forgot to log them in."

"Did you talk with them at any point?" Hawkmoon inquired. "Did you even see them?"

Azimuth paused. "No."

"You sure?"

"Not really, madam. Many come and go."

"You account for every guest here, don't you?"

"I try. My mods aren't... aren't quite up to spec. The facilities have expanded greatly in recent vorns. My processor add-ons have not."

"Are you short on shanix?"

"No madam, though I'd never be able to afford it on my own."

"Then who pays for it? The High Council?"

Azimuth shook her helm. "The Council provides grants. It's up to the managerial board to distribute those funds where necessary."

"And they decided not to update your systems?"

"... Yes madam."

"Why?"

Azimuth hesitated.

"Ah," Hawkmoon said softly. "I see. Now, and I'll admit this is a big tangent so I'm sorry for that, but I'm just curious. Does a habitation-complex's chief administrator get paid well?"

"Adequately for this city sector."

"Right. What about a custodian?"

Azimuth hesitated again. "More than I," she admitted at length.

"What about our buddy Fragment? More than his position merits?"

"I could not say."

"Oh I'm just saying, seems like a cozy set-up. What's a custodian's workload look like?"

"They oversee the managerial board."

"The same board who decide where that grant goes, right?" Hawkmoon smiled thinly. "I think you know where I'm going with this. You can tell me if I'm wrong."

Azimuth said nothing.

"Am I wrong?"

"... No madam. You are not wrong."

"Does this get logged anywhere?"

"On our accounting system. Everything is processed through the building's servers."

"So if, say, there were any discrepancies, we could have a gander at the nearest computer? You must have all the permissions, right?"

"Ye-es."

Hawkmoon raised an optical ridge. "You don't sound so sure."

"It's impossible, ma'am."

"Why is that?"

"Because... we updated the system. Custodian Fragment ordered a purge of junk data to ease on the server load."

"So there's no record of how this grant was spent?"

"No madam."

"Right. Well, I don't know about you but to me that sounds highly illegal. Not to mention problematic." Hawkmoon took another sip and glanced over her pauldron. "Are you getting this, officer?"

"Yes ma'am," Barricade replied. "Loud and clear."

"Good." Hawkmoon turned back to Azimuth. "I'm not going to drag this on; I have places to be and much guiltier people to press. Did Fragment specifically order you to wipe all data regarding the grants?"

"Yes madam."

"And could there have been some collateral? Like... oh I don't know, a guest's personal details deleted with the rest?"

Azimuth frowned. "I'm not sure."

"No?"

"It's possible, but... it would be very strange."

"Mhm." Hawkmoon tipped the energon cube back. It went down smoothly. She dropped it back onto the table half-empty and pushed it over. "My treat, go on. Could someone, knowing you were about to commit a data purge, transfer said data into a deletion queue?"

"Only with authorization."

"Who has that authorization?"

"The managerial board. And myself."

"Right. Of course." Hawkmoon stood up. "Thanks for coming all this way. The good officer here might have further questions, but I gotta go." She made to leave.

"Madam," Azimuth said.

Hawkmoon paused at the door. "Yes?"

"The security systems we employ here are the same as those operated by the High Council."

Hawkmoon frowned. "That's a dangerous accusation to make."

Azimuth's expression shifted. "No, madam, I didn't mean-"

"I know. But carry on."

"The permissions one needs to gain administrator access are similar to those used by Enforcer operators on secure Teletraan instances."

Hawkmoon's optics flicked over to Barricade. To his credit he looked surprised. "I see."

"I don't mean anything by it."

"Don't need to convince me. Officer?"

Barricade gathered himself. "I'll have to relay this to the commissioner."

"If you think it best. But no one else. Am I understood?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Thank you. Be good." Hawkmoon inclined her helm and took her leave. Dreadwing followed her out. ::Vos next,:: Hawkmoon told him. ::Will they open the groundbridge for us?::

::They have no choice in the matter. Yes.::

::Great.::

::Should I inform Senator Contrail?::

::Do as you will.::

The groundbridge station in Vos was busy but the Iacon terminal was deserted. Hawkmoon stepped through the portal, her Scrambler shivering in her chest, and quickly glanced around the translation chamber. The automated drones outnumbered the personnel ten to one, to say nothing of the security detail assigned to her. Armed Seekers stamped with the local Enforcer insignias wordlessly fell in step around her. An aide bearing the colours of the Vosian Prince met them by the entrance to the station's landing pads. "Madam Emirate. Welcome home."

"Thank you."

"Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Yes, actually. I want to..." Hawkmoon paused. "Well. There's a mech I want to speak to and I think he's still in official custody. It's imperative that I get to him quickly."

"Of course. Please state their designation."

"Bitstream."

The aide's optics dimmed. "Understood. I've sent a request on your behalf. In the meantime, the honour of your presence is cordially invited to the Palace of Vos. You'll find new quarters therein."

"That's mighty generous."

"The Prince Avion sends his regards. Court shall be held this eve; your presence is not requested but it would be appreciated."

"Say yes," Augur urged her. "We must keep with appearances. This gives you ample cover."

Hawkmoon smiled. "I'd love to, thank you."

The aide bowed. "Madam. Your transport awaits."

Last time she'd visited the palace Hawkmoon had been all but smuggled inside. Not this time around. There were soldiers, yes, but courtiers and reporters milling about the landing pad in anticipation for her arrival. Her escort fanned out ahead, clearing a space for her and Dreadwing both, and allowed but a single butler to slip past them.

"Emirate," the servant greeted warmly. "Am I to understand you are here on business? Or pleasure?"

"Business," Hawkmoon told him. "Any word on my guy?"

"Oh yes. The prisoner is being brought to an interrogation cell as we speak."

"So quickly?"

The butler flashed a smile. "The good Prince Avion knows his friends. When you have finished, his office is open to you."

"Good to know." Hawkmoon ignored the flash of advanced recording tools peeking through the press of Enforcers. "Show me to the cell?"

"Of course."

They entered the palace and made for a secured elevator, which was as far as the paparazzi got. Down they went, down, down into the base of Vos's heart, until the doors opened and they emerged within a darker chamber.

"This way please," the butler said. He guided them past a series of security checkpoints manned by drone and mecha both until at last they arrived at an internal complex - the royal dungeons. The butler stopped before a thick steel door ribbed with locking mechanisms and turned to her. "We are aware that this individual may have made threats against your person during your previous stay. Rest assured there will never be a repeat of such an event."

"Is he talkative?" Hawkmoon asked.

The butler hesitated. "Bitstream... is not forthcoming. He knows he stands in contempt of the Prince, but... thus far he has not offered any excuse nor the identities of his fellows. He does enjoy menial conversation, however, where the opportunity arises. I think he is growing lonely."

"What about his partner? The grounder?"

"Non-functioning, I'm afraid to say."

Hawkmoon did a double-take. "Dead?"

"She self-decommissioned a couple of orns after her arrest. It's not understood how it occured, but the link between her spark and central processor was surgically severed. As a result we have taken drastic precautions to ensure Bitstream does not follow the same fate."

"What was her designation?"

"We don't know. Criminal databases utilised by Enforcer institutions in other city-states leave much to be desired."

"Any identification on her chassis?"

"No."

"Was anyone watching when she died?"

"Surveillance footage is available if you'd like, but no one was physically present. She simply perished on the spot."

"That's..." Hawkmoon vented. "I'd like to ask about the attack. What actually happened?"

"You don't know?"

"Senator Contrail was more concerned with keeping anyone from reaching me than he was answering my questions."

The butler inclined his helm. "Of course. Should I link you with the chief of security?"

"In your own words, please. I'm not picky."

"As you wish." The butler paused. "A series of explosives were inserted discreetly in the atmospheric conditioning in the lower levels, opening the ventilation system to the city. Security units assumed it to be a terrorist attack and converged on the area. Bitstream used the opportunity to find you."

"Where did his partner come from?"

"We don't know. She did not enter any of the palace's entrances. We suspect she arrived through the space cleared by the bombs, but the breach was too high from the ground for an automobile-based frame to reach. There were no aerial transports in the area either. Palace air space is closely monitored."

"So we don't know how she got in."

"That is correct."

Hawkmoon nodded slowly. "Must have you people worried."

"Very." The butler indicated to the door. "But Prince Avion is hopeful that you may be able to elicit something meaningful from Bitstream."

"Who was he? Before all this. Officially, I mean."

"A respected advisor."

"That's it?"

"Officially," the butler told her.

Hawkmoon frowned. "And unofficially?"

"He was an intelligence officer of some merit."

"Ah."

"Indeed."

"Well. Thanks for the heads up. 'Spose I'm ready."

The butler pressed his servo against the nearby access terminal. The door began unlocking. "Good luck," he said, as it opened before them. There was a hallway beyond, manned by a pair of Enforcers, and a smaller door at the other end.

Hawkmoon took a couple of steps inside, Dreadwing following close behind, then stopped. "What do I call you?" she asked, half-turning around. "If I need anything else?"

"Ramjet, madam. At your service." The butler bowed and the door slid shut between them. Hawkmoon exchanged a look with Dreadwing and carried on. The Enforcers held the other door open for her. Inside was a big grey box of a room illuminated by a rings of fluorescent lights overhead, dominated solely by a silver table and a screen of glass separating the chamber in two.

On the other side sat Bitstream, servos and pedes cuffed to a reinforced chair. A series of wires ran over his shoulders. A single lonely wing sprouted from his back. The other was just a stump. His mouth was gagged with clamp boasting cables hooked up his neck - injected directly into his vocabulator. Bitstream watched her step inside, his optics brightening, and he shifted back. His remaining wing tucked behind his back.

"Hawkmoon," his muzzle translated. It didn't sound anything like him.

"Hey," Hawkmoon said, smiling warily. "How're things?"

He stared at her.

"That good?"

"Why are you here?"

"Just curious. Usually when people try to kill me the reason why is pretty fraggin' clear. Don't know what your deal was. I guess I was too moody?"

"That's not it at all."

"I know. I was being funny." Hawkmoon took a seat. Dreadwing remained standing. "You know that, right? I'm a funny person. I can dish a joke and I can take it too. Like trying to kidnap me. Classic, that. Abduction's the ol' reliable, eh?"

Bitstream watched her.

"No? Not in the mood for jokes?"

"You took my wing."

"You tried to stab me." Hawkmoon's smile fell. "Tried to have your friend put me into stasis-lock. Caused one helluva ruckus while at it. People've told me you used bombs. Bombs. On this here palace. You were in for keeps, weren't you?"

"It wasn't personal."

"Don't say that. It's always personal. Just because it's a job doesn't mean we don't put our sparks into it."

"What are you saying?"

"You knew the stakes. Must've been a big payoff at the end of it. Gotta wonder what's worth that much?"

"You. You are," Bitstream barked. "But you already knew that." He averted his optics downwards.

"Yeah," Hawkmoon murmured. "Me. Always great to have your own Hawkmoon at hand. She's the best."

"That's not it-"

"Then why don't you tell me?" She tilted her helm. "Is it because of this?" Hawkmoon pulled on the fabric of her half-cloak. Her hood was down. "Or maybe something else..." Her talons crept down to rest over her sparkchamber - and the Scrambler nestled beside it.

Bitstream glanced up at her. "Does it matter?"

"'Spose the who is more important than the why. So who?"

"No."

"No? That a name?"

"I can't."

"But you want to?"

Bitstream offlined his optics.

"You're scared," Hawkmoon realized, speaking softly. "Someone's got you terrified."

He said nothing.

"Angels, right?"

Bitstream's optics flared back to life. "What did you say?"

"Angels. That mean anything to you? Drezhari maybe?"

Bitstream tried to turn his helm away, but there was something in the back of it. A huge cable slotted into the base of his cranium.

"That's a cortical patch," Hawkmoon said softly.

Bitstream huffed a hollow laugh. "The Prince gets what he wants eventually."

"You're fighting it?"

"I have nothing to say to you."

Hawkmoon leaned back in the chair and discreetly shifted a pauldron. Augur hopped onto the table, phased through the glass wall and leapt onto Bitstream's shackled arm. The mech shifted with discomfort, but that was the extent of his reaction. Augur sidled up to his shoulder and sniffed closely. "Fear," he reported. "He's terrified."

Hawkmoon raised an optical ridge. "Nothing? You could probably work out a better deal than this if you'd just explain things."

"Fear... of consequences," Augur clarified.

Bitstream glared at her. "I'm done talking to you."

"... This isn't what he wants. He's strung tight." Augur glanced back at her. "His fear is strong. It's desperation. He wants to tell you. But he can't."

"You're only making things worse for yourself," Hawkmoon pointed out.

"He knows. But he wants - oh he very much wants to live." Augur bounded back over her. "There's something inside him. Something wicked and cold. It's not Cybertronian."

"Bitstream, look at me." Hawkmoon stood up and tapped the glass. He regarded her blankly. "I'll get you help, you just need to tell me who sent you."

"No."

It was answer enough, but she didn't like it. Not one bit. "Fine," she said at length. "I guess we're done here."

Bitstream just kept watching her as she made her way to the door. It was only when the Enforcers closed it behind her that she saw it for what it was. A yearning. He was begging her for help.

Ramjet met them outside with a courteous smile. "Was he amenable, madam?"

"No," Hawkmoon said distantly. "But I've learned all I needed."

They brought her up to the summit of the palace, passing luxurious suites and elaborate galleries as they went. Dreadwing and the rest of the Enforcers remained by the lift while Ramjet and herself carried on. Ramjet stopped before a comparatively modest doorway and rapped his knuckles against the metal. It opened with a swish.

"Please, enter," Ramjet said, ushering her inside. Hawkmoon stepped forth. It was a parlour with two floors, the walls lined with paintings and mosaics. Endless glass cabinets contained relics of Cybertronian and alien make. In the middle of it all were the calcified remains of a silver tree sprouting from a marble pot. It was the same kind of plant she'd passed in Sunburst's apartment - radiating a cool, empty aura. Like a bucket waiting to be filled.

Past the tree, at the end of the room, was a desk carved from another kind of wood entirely. Three mecha were seated there - and Contrail was one of them.

"Welcome," the mech behind the table greeted. His voice was rich and smooth, far beyond the scope of most Cybertronian vocabulators. He was tall, taller than her and painted from head to toe in the deepest black. Every plate of his was gilded at the edges with the finest gold and his wings were themselves works of art, curved like blades and collapsed beneath dendritic ornaments. His optics were red and his faceplates were a polished silver. Hawkmoon recognized him in passing from images shared on the Teletraan net and televised displays across Vos: their own Prince, Avion himself. He was handsome, incredibly so, and he moved with an elegant poise that seemed off for such a massive robot. "The Emirate Hawkmoon?"

"The same," Hawkmoon replied. She blinked. "Do I... bow? Or kneel? Curtsy?"

"Please," Contrail muttered.

Avion laughed and waved her off. "No, no! We're not on a stage yet. Please, sit down." He indicated to his right. Hawkmoon strode over and relaxed into the chair. To her right and between her and Contrail was seated a slender red-and-blue mech, scowling into an energon cube.

Hawkmoon blinked with surprise. "Starscream?"

He glanced at her, frowning. "Oh. You."

"You're already acquainted?" Avion asked. His smile wavered.

"We were enrolled in the same course," Hawkmoon explained. "At the Institute."

"Fantastic." The grin was back. "The Institution produces some exemplary Seeker Elites. An Emirate? Overseer of the Tryptican installation? Senator, you should be proud."

Contrail graciously dipped his helm. "I am, your grace."

Avion turned back to her. "You've come far, Emirate."

"Hawkmoon," she said. "Prefer to be called by my designation."

"Very well." Avion settled back in his chair. "The Senator here told me you were keen on aiding the investigation of Zeta Prime's assassination. A grisly business."

"I'm waiting for the commissioner to give me a call," Hawkmoon lied. Well, half-lied. It was the truth. Just maybe not in the context they were imagining. "Were you close? Yourself and the Prime?"

"No." Avion produced another energon cube from beneath the desk and pushed it over to her. Starscream and Contrail already had cubes of their own. "Zeta was partial to Iacon, and though the Primes do make an effort to keep Vos in their favour he was not... enthusiastic about it."

Hawkmoon tried the energon. It was pure high-grade. "Yeah, got that vibe from him."

"Shame what happened to him."

"Alpha Trion, though." Hawkmoon snuck a look Contrail's way. He raised an optical ridge. "What about him?

"Ah, Alpha Trion, that old scoundrel," Avion chuckled. "He's a friend."

"To Vos?"

"To everyone. And if you're not his friend then you're doing something very wrong. But his time is past. His influence is fading."

"I hear it's still strong as far as the Senate goes."

Avion inclined his helm. "True, but there are other voices rising."

"This is about that gladiator again," Starscream said. "Isn't it?"

"His name is Megatronus," Contrail said, shooting Starscream a look. "And he's not just a gladiator. Not anymore."

Hawkmoo's smile fell. "What about him?"

"The working castes are flocking to hear his speeches," Avion explained. "It's quite remarkable. The mech has a talent for oration. Now Iacon - Iacon doesn't know what to do about it."

"But the Lords of Kaon do," Contrail pointed out. "It garners revenue for the arenas. Every citizen wants to watch him fight. They want to hear him in person. When that interest dies they'll have him disassembled for parts."

"That interest has been growing for the past four vorns, Senator. It won't disappear in a blink."

"Of course not, your grace, but there's nothing to be done for it either way. A popular slave is still a slave, and Kaon won't be keen to let him go." Contrail grimaced. "His masters won't abide foreign intervention either."

Avion glanced at Hawkmoon. "No," he said. "I imagine not. What do you think, Emirate?"

Hawkmoon hesitated. "It would be great if something was done," she said at last, "because Kaon needs to change. But I wouldn't know how to go about it. Not without making a mess of things."

"Aptly put." Avion sat up. "But I tire of these grim topics. Let's talk of kinder things before duty draws us away. Starscream, how goes your research?"

When all was said and done, and their energon cubes were drained, Hawkmoon bid her farewells and left with Contrail. Ramjet had disappeared but she knew the way back.

"So what is it?" Contrail asked quietly, keeping pace with her.

"Hm?" Hawkmoon glanced at him.

"Why are you back?"

"Things I need to find out. I'm following a lead."

"In Vos?"

"Yeah." Hawkmoon paused. "Contrail, what do you know about Cloudbreaker?"

Contrail's faceplates tightened crossly. "So that's it."

"I just want to know who she was."

"Not who you are?"

"That's..." Hawkmoon vented. "I'm not her, but that doesn't mean I should forget her."

"Good," Augur whispered.

"What does this have to do with the investigation?" Contrail asked.

"The drone."

"You swore it was Drezhari."

"I still do, but things aren't adding up. The attack here and the assassination in Iacon could be linked."

Contrail caught her pauldron and brought them to a stop. "You think someone's targeting you?"

"Isn't that obvious?"

"I meant in the Curia. If the shooter missed-"

"They didn't miss," Hawkmoon told him. "They wanted Zeta Prime. I saw the room. Their set-up was perfect."

"What makes you think there's a link between the two?"

"Bitstream's friend popped up out of thin air, just like the drone."

"Cloaking technology-"

"No. Something else. Trans-dimensional displacement."

Contrail frowned. "That's ridiculous-"

"You know the technology the Weapons Division was producing. You know what I have installed. The means to bring Cybertron's military and infrastructure grinding to a halt. All they need is something to sidestep that so the wielder has another means of instantaneous transport immune to their own weapons. Cloudbreaker could have those answers."

Contrail said nothing.

"Did she have an apartment?" Hawkmoon pressed. "A computer, datapad, diary? Friends maybe, or-"

"Family?" Contrail vented deeply. "No. No family. Her sparkmate is long since dead and her sparkbond with her creation was severed by judicial decree while they were but a sparkling."

"Primus..."

"She had an apartment, but it was cleared out long ago. However..." Contrail's optics grew faint. He beamed a datapacket to her. "You might find something there."

It was a location. East city, fourteenth level. Digital storage complex; a private data repository. Hawkmoon nodded. "Thank you."

The building was squat, pinched between two city layers and flanked by support pillars on every side. A monorail rumbled overhead. The streets were crowded but it was dark and grimy - too close to one of the openings to the Vosian Undercity to be considered safe, let alone civil. Hawkmoon moved through the crowd with her hood drawn over her helm and her wings held low. Dreadwing was watching her progress from overhead, inconspicuously perched on the side of a pillar like a steel gargoyle.

The entrance was poorly lit, glass doors sliding open with a whine at her approach. Hawkmoon stepped inside, shook off the greasy condensation from outside and approached the single reception desk. A thin femme sat on the other side, optics affixed to a flashing monitor.

"Yeah?"

"I'm here for server lot X118," Hawkmoon said. She'd tampered with her voicebox to ensure it couldn't be traced.

"Y' got identification?" the femme asked, still distracted. She indicated to a scrappy old scanner. Hawkmoon beamed the passcodes. The scanner pinged green. The femme glanced at it. "Right. That's third floor, twenty-seventh chamber. No deviatin'."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Hawkmoon stepped past and made for the elevator. There was a camera inside, cracked but operational. When the door opened again she stepped out and stiffly made her way to the twenty-seventh room. Inside were a bunch of server blocks wrapped in exposed cables. She commenced a quick scan of the place: no camera in here. "Good to go."

Hawkmoon crouched, produced a datakey and held it out. Augur took it between his jaws. "Fifth floor," she explained. "Third door. Just flick the on-button and put that in."

Augur winked and took to the closest wall, running straight up it and phasing through the floor - datakey and all. Hawkmoon waited... and waited... and wai-

There. A connection. She zeroed in on it, her world remolding to a digital landscape. They were in. The computer demanded a passcode but she assailed it with self-formed viruses, poking its firewalls full of holes until it gave way. She wasted no time in downloading everything on the server cache. It took the better part of a couple of joors. The moment it finished she ejected the key, returned to her body and waited a little longer. Augur darted through the ceiling and landed beside her, offering the datastick to her

"Is that all?" he asked.

"Yep." Hawkmoon straightened up. Augur leapt onto his usual perch atop her shoulders. They made their way back down to the lobby and she waved to the receptionist before taking to the cold, filthy relief of the streets. Dreadwing joined them only when they'd made some distance from the place.

"Is it done?" Dreadwing gruffly inquired.

"It's done," Hawkmoon confirmed. "We can head back to the palace."

She swept her room for bugs and came up short. Hawkmoon didn't like it. Didn't believe it. She wasn't convinced until Augur tried the same - still nothing.

"Your Prince may simply be a gracious host," he offered. "Was Úthaessel not the same?"

"Úthaessel was prescient," Hawkmoon said, again in Tai. She sat on the edge of a steel berth, holding the datakey between her claws. "She never needed to spy on people."

"Indeed. But she was kind."

"Yeah. Nice." Hawkmoon vented. "I don't want to do this."

"I can't do it for you."

"Augur. Please."

"I can't."

"I'm not asking you to. I just don't think this is a good idea."

"We have to try." He brushed against her arm. "What have you to lose?"

"My personality? My memories, my entire consciousness?"

"I'll be here. I won't let you go."

"Thanks."

"You're too important to die now."

Hawkmoon made a face. "Little less thankful now."

Augur huffed. "Do it."

Hawkmoon dragged the key over to an open port on her arm, plating folded back... and she hesitated.

"Hawkmoon-"

"Don't. You don't know what it's like to be torn apart and stitched back together. It's hell." She vented hard. "If this goes wrong I'm screwed. I've been coasting along by the skin of my teeth; if this mucks everything up and forces a DER, I'm gone. This body won't reset. It's not designed to."

"You won't die. You won't suffer. I'll protect you."

"I know you will. But I'm... I'm afraid!" Hawkmoon dropped the key down beside her. "Let me have that much, please."

"Fear has no place here," Augur said softly. "We cannot afford it. Everything we've done, everything we must do; there's no time for terror. If the Foe is needling into this world, turning it towards its own interests, we must understand the nature of the infestation. There is no choice."

Hawkmoon scowled. She scooped the datakey up and braced it against her wrist. "If anything happens... if I die, I'm going to haunt you. Not lightly either. I'm gonna make your life miserable. You understand that?"

"That's not how souls work."

"Fuck you." She pressed the key on. Almost instantly her HUD was dominated by warnings of EXTERNAL DATADRIVES DETECTED. Access to the port-key was permitted but the files were locked. Nothing she couldn't handle. Hawkmoon reluctantly brought her skills to bear and slashed at the anti-viral defenses with pure intent, clawing errant code aside until they opened up before her.

Some were datalogue entries. Others were schematics, hidden away. Nothing of substance yet. But scattered between were the barest shreds of... of memories. Someone else's. Hawkmoon had a peek at one-

She held their servo tightly. They gazed up at her with shining optics. Young, so young. So precious. So loved.

-and raced back to the safety of her own processor. Hawkmoon tore the key loose and tossed it across the room, watching it clatter against the wall and fall to the floor. "No," she said, trembling. "No no no, Augur no more, there's nothing there, no-"

Her comms system pinged. Hawkmoon answered the call with a ragged ::What?!::

To his credit Barricade took it in stride. ::The commissioner wants to update you.::

Hawkmoon vented. ::Sorry. What's this about?::

::We know who it is. The assassin.::

::You do?::

::Mhm. There were another pair of killings in the Lower City committed by Stygian rifle, some petty loan-shark scum. Their databanks were only partially scrubbed; imprints of the killer's appearance were burned into their optics. He got sloppy.::

::Fragging pit. Who's the perp?::

::Mercenary by the name of Deadlock. Sniper by profession - and he's got previous relations with Zeta Prime. Deadlock took up hunting surviving Ascenticons during the purges, then presented their remains and proof of affiliation to the Prime's staff for shanix. He's also a legislated owner of a Stygian Grade-IV rifle.::

::What happens next?::

::Polihex Enforcer squads are en route to his apartment. Obsidian is flying in to meet them when they're finished.::

::Do we think he's there?::

Barricade paused. ::We don't know. But it's a start.::

::Right, okay. Tell the commissioner to expect me. Does Deadlock have any affiliates? Partners, a guild?::

::No guild, but he's got an on-again, off-again relationship with some local bouncer. Axelshift's her name. He had a partner a couple of vorns ago, a mech named Lockdown, but they'd officially parted ways a while back.::

::Call the Polihex station to bring Axelshift in for questioning. Lockdown too if you can manage. Know where he might be?::

::Uh... last sighting is Blaster City. I'll make another round of calls.::

::Thanks.::

::My pleasure.:: Barricade disconnected.

Hawkmoon glanced down at Augur. "We know who killed the Prime."

He stretched. "Are we to take another portal?"

"Dunno if there's any linking Vos and Polihex. Probably have to fly."

"How far?"

"To Polihex? Other side of the planet. Won't take us that long." Hawkmoon stood up.

"You're forgetting something," Augur called after her. He padded over and picked the datakey up in his teeth. Hawkmoon begrudgingly swiped it from him.

"Later," she said, and deposited it into internal storage. "You ready?"

"Ready."

AN: Hugest thanks to Nomad Blue for the editz!