Chapter 64

"Bearing the torch because no one else will"

Augur was waiting patiently for her. Hawkmoon grimaced and sat up, wings stretching behind her.

"So," he said, "you intend to kill a god?"

"Oh fuck off."

"This isn't something you should allow your notions of sentimentality to get in the way of."

Hawkmoon levelled him with a glare. "I'll find Greshar," she said coldly, "and I'll kill him."

"It won't be so simple. The Foe's purpose may be singlefold, but the manner in which they shield and cloak themselves render them far beyond mortal scope. You're unnatural, unpredictable, new, yet you only scratch the surface of what is possible and what is more. The weapon your... humans kept for you will only go so far."

"Unless you can find the Traveler for me, I don't have the means to weaponize my paracausality."

Augur's star-bright eyes narrowed. "Let's take stock of what we do have. A device capable of shattering the Foe's vessels but only in transit. They'll know to expect it. A blade blessed by the Shadow Emperor to pierce any and all wards. The form of a dragon, itself a weapon against logic. A malignant creation protected by the viral machines as a shred of ill-begotten divinity, now yours. It's not enough. You need reach."

"Augur," Hawkmoon groaned, "until you've actually got something for me then there's no point having this conversation. Greshar's forcing our hand. We kill him soon or we die."

"We can't afford to confront him underpowered."

"We don't have a choice."

Augur flicked his tails. "I'll search for a means-"

"I don't care what you do." Hawkmoon stood and walked away to begin her day.

She found Deadlock, Dreadwing and Soundwave in the garden by the pond. Deadlock tossed her an energon cube. "Just a short recharge, right?"

Hawkmoon waved him off. The energon was like a salve to her stiff struts. "Anything else happen?"

Deadlook looked at Soundwave. Soundwave glanced in Dreadwing's direction. Dreadwing vented and rolled his shoulders. "Halogen, on behalf of Iacon's Council, denounced the Vosian Weapons Division as class-alpha traitors."

"And that's..."

"On rank with Quintesson sympathisers and Ascenticon terrorists."

"Good." Hawkmoon drained the cube and leaned against a crystal growth. "So..."

Dreadwing took a moment. "The Prince Avion addressed the Vosian court during the off-cycle. The Drezhari are now enemies of the state and to be terminated on sight no matter which form they take. Praxus has declared the Acquiestical a universal threat. Crystal City, Harmonex, and Kaon are waiting on Iacon's answer. The others have fallen in line with us. Tarn's ruling body are presently broadcasting; we'll hear their answer soon."

"Halogen: assuming administrative powers over senate," Soundwave explained. "Contrail: alerted two joors ago. Senate: discussing Drezhari threat via secure Teletraan line."

"When're they due to finish?"

"Expected timeframe: one joor."

"Guess we wait."

Contrail emerged a little later. His optics were dim and wings raised high. He saw them, walked over with all the enthusiasm of a man on death row and said, "It's war."

Deadlock revved his engine. "'Bout fraggin' time."

"Enough," Dreadwing barked. He looked back at Contrail. "Sir?"

Contrail was looking at Hawkmoon. "Halogen put it to a vote. Each city-state had one. Twelve in favour of war, one abstain, two against."

Hawkmoon frowned. "Who was against?"

"Iacon. Crystal City always follows their lead. Failure to identify the embedded Drezhari threat, housing traitors, and allowing the Prime to fall victim to alien ambitions have left them floundering. Their image is gone. You've embarrassed them, Hawkmoon. You've humiliated the most powerful city on the planet."

"They shouldn't have made those mistakes."

"No, they shouldn't have. But they'll not soon forget it."

"So... pride? They're against war because of pride?"

"Iacon is a patron of the academics," Contrail explained. "And Crystal City is an academic haven. They're naturally inclined towards pacifism. Alpha Trion's reticence has only exacerbated issues. Much of Iacon looks to him for guidance. If he doesn't support war, they won't either."

Hawkmoon shook her helm. "We don't have a choice-"

"Neither do they. Cybertron has a decaorn to mobilise." He paused. "Each of the Great Cities are contributing a general. Kalis' choice, Fortress Maximus, will lead the campaign overall. Iacon insists on Ultra Magnus and his Elite Guard joining the fleet to keep order. The Prince Avion will be acting Air Commander. Tarn have proposed that Shockwave, a renowned researcher of war-sciences, lead the ground assault on Drezhari worlds."

"Wait, you said we have a fleet?"

Contrail nodded grimly. "Left over from the Empire. Worldburners and Quintesson-hunters. Energon guzzlers, all of them."

She nodded slowly. "No pulling our punches."

"Hawkmoon."

"Yeah?"

"... The senate wants you to lead the vanguard." His faceplates tightened with displeasure. "Iacon insisted."

Hawkmoon felt everyone's optics on her. She pushed away from the crystal. "I..."

"They strongly insisted."

"I want to kill Greshar."

Contrail frowned. "What?"

"I'll lead the assault on the Drezhari leadership. The angel and the Hellsong. Whatever it takes."

"Hawkmoon, this isn't a game-"

"I'm not playing one. I've seen war before, Contrail."

He grimaced. "Yes, I suppose you have."

"Will that fly with the senate?"

"Oh, I'm sure Halogen will be ecstatic."

Deadlock slammed a servo against his hull. "I'm going with you."

Hawkmoon's optical ridges rose. "That was fast."

"I want to see this thing die. If you're leading the assault, I'm following you in."

"Contrail?"

Contrail held out his servos helplessly. "What do you want me to do? It's your command."

Hawkmoon crossed her arms. "Usually you'd have a word of advice for me."

"You said it yourself, you've already waged a war. There's nothing I can say that you won't already know." Contrail glanced to the side. "Soundwave, send Halogen a confirmation - and tell him Hawkmoon's intent."

Soundwave bowed his helm.

"Well?" Deadlock demanded. "Am I in?"

Hawkmoon shrugged. "Keep that Stygian handy and I don't see why not."

"Will do."

"Contrail."

"Yes?"

"I..." Hawkmoon hesitated. Her wings fluttered. "I'll need mecha. Soldiers. I won't take anyone unwilling."

Contrail raised an optical ridge. "I'm sure Fortress Maximus will assign troops to your division."

"I want soldiers who can't be bought."

"You think the senate might retaliate?"

"I think... it's possible we might not have all the Drezhari's sympathisers. And I don't want to suffer a blade to the back because some lofty Iaconian thinks they can command who I can and can't run with."

"I don't have soldiers, Hawkmoon. I'm not a military commander."

"But you can find soldiers."

"So you want me to buy soldiers who, as you say, can't be bought?"

Hawkmoon shrugged. "I want someone who honours a deal."

Contrail frowned. "I'll see what I can do."

"Just like that?"

"You sound surprised."

"I'm just wondering why you keep payrolling me."

"I have a vested interest in keeping you alive, difficult as it may be." Contrail turned to Soundwave. "Watch her. Help her with whatever she needs."

Soundwave said nothing, just nodded.

Contrail turned back to her. "The Prince requested I report to him in person. I'll tell him you volunteered."

"Send him my regards," Hawkmoon said.

"I shall. Behave."

They raced the rest of the day away.

The following orn found her waiting by the groundbridge. Contrail's orders. "An inspection," Skyquake explained. "Or an interview. Whatever takes your fancy."

A couple of Vosian contacts had turned up a few noteworthy mercenary companies. Hawkmoon tried to feel surprised there were so many but most of Cybertron, outside of the cities' limits, was a lawless frontier - and that wasn't even considering the gloomy depths of the dozens of undercities. Enforcers limited their reach to the 'civilized' parts. She knew that on the edge of Stanix, Polihex and settlements bordering on the Rust Sea mecha paid for exterminators to cut down anything that crawled out of the red wastes. Why wouldn't they hire mercs too for those places where the only law was a weapons configuration?

Contrail joined them. He looked exhausted though he hid it beneath a veneer of professionalism. "My contacts on Luna-2 employed them to defend a newly-discovered historical site during its excavation. A neighbouring Insecticon nest had been making issues for them."

Hawkmoon hummed approvingly. If someone had given her the choice between fighting a Hive Ogre or an Insecticon drone, she would've picked the Ogre in a heartbeat. "Tough?"

"And then some. They're a private special operations company."

"Do they know the stakes?"

"I never explicitly said..." Contrail murmured. "But I imagine they've pieced it together."

"What do they call themselves?"

Contrail's faceplates twisted. "The Glitched."

Hawkmoon barked a laugh, more out of surprise than amusement. They weren't left waiting long. From the groundbridge a Minicon, bearing the frame of a Dartwing, hopped through. They and Contrail stepped to the side and spoke in hushed tones. Following the little creature were three mecha of more sizable proportions and armed to the denta. The first was a mech a little taller than her and twice as broadly built. Tank treads rested on his pauldrons. A huge riot cannon hung from one arm. A featureless battlevisor was on place over his faceplates but she could see his optics - blood red and gleaming with sharp cunning. His plate was a dark gleamless purple

"Emirate," he greeted in a smooth voice, bowing at the waist. "An honour."

Behind him was an even bulkier mech, his navy armour so thick it left him with the impression of being permanently hunched over. A pair of large cannisters jutted in the air from behind his massive shoulders. His optics were different colours - one green, the other scarlet. The last of the three was a lightly-built femme with wheels on her knee-joints and behind her back, helm fitted with an external targeting lens over one of her yellow optics. Her scratched-up plate was painted a bronze hue. She scowled at everything she saw, Hawkmoon included.

"Tarn," the lead mech continued. "At your service."

"Tarn?" Hawkmoon cocked her head. "After the city-state?"

"Indeed." She had the impression he was smiling beneath his mask. Tarn straightened. "My home, though I haven't been back since... oh it must be vorns at this rate. I like to keep it close. But where are my manners?" He motioned behind him. "This is Duststorm, my second, and Contagion, our chief medical officer."

Hawkmoon clasped her servos behind her back, nodding to each of them in turn. "Contrail said you saw action on Luna-2."

Tarn gestured flippantly. "Some. Not quite to our usual specs."

"Here's hopin' you'll change that," Duststorm muttered.

Hawkmoon looked them over. Each of them was a grizzled war-frame. Duststorm had a Stygian rifle folded along the front of her chassis and the underside of Contagion's servos were armed with rail-access slings - to bring out repair tools, but she wouldn't have put it past him to link it up with minor weapon configurations. "This is Deadlock," Hawkmoon introduced, indicating to her side. Deadlock tipped his helm. "I'm sure you're aware of what's happening?"

"Drezhar Acquiestical assaulted a member of the Prime's staff," Contagion rumbled. "Cybertron mobilises."

"You put up a fair fight," Duststorm added. Her cold sharpness in her optics eased. "The net's abuzz; some say you're out to finish it."

Hawkmoon grimaced. "Greshar and the Hellsong. None of this ends until they're dead. So yeah, I'm gonna hunt 'em down. Right now I'm checking to see who's game."

Tarn narrowed his optics. "We haven't agreed to anything."

"Just presenting you with the option."

Tarn nodded slowly. He glanced at Duststorm and Dustorm stared back. Soon enough he turned back to her and said, "We'll put it to a vote. I won't throw my mecha into the smelter without a warning."

"Go ahead." Hawkmoon stepped back. "But be quick."

The mercs retreated through the groundbridge. Hawkmoon and Deadlock were soon joined by Soundwave. His visor was alight with... something. A line of glyphs she didn't recognise.

"What is it?" she inquired.

"Message: from Kaon," he said.

Deadlock vented sharply. "I didn't know you had friends there," he muttered.

Hawkmoon shot him a look. "I don't. Who's it from?"

Soundwave tensed. "Originator: Clench. Rank: lord of Kaon."

"A slaver," Hawkmoon darkly finished. "What the frag do they want?"

Soundwave hesitated.

"'Wave, what do they want?"

"Intended recipient: Contrail."

Hawkmoon raised an optical ridge. "You steal his mail too?"

"Correction: Contrail delegated Soundwave to intercept and analyse official communications. Reason: work overload."

"So... why aren't you talking to Contrail about this?"

Soundwave hesitated again. "Interests: divergent. Contrail: unlikely to respond."

"'Wave." Hawkmoon kept her voice quiet but tone serious. "What. Is this. About?"

"Clench: aware of Hawkmoon's need for personnel. Clench: has an offer. Desire: to reassign indentured serfs."

Hawkmoon blinked. Anger trickled in, painting her vision red. Her expression turned murderous. "He wants to sell us slaves?"

Another moment passed before Soundwave inclined his helm. "Correction: no price mentioned. Offer: trained combat mecha for use on front-lines. Terms: not to be publicised."

"Why?" Deadlock pressed.

Soundwave looked only at Hawkmoon. After he explained it she balled her servos into fists. It wasn't until a breem later that Tarn and his entourage returned, their stances easy and their EM fields radiant.

"Madame Emirate," he began, then noticed her grim countenance. "Is everything alright?"

"Just fine," Hawkmoon ground out. "What's your answer?"

"We're amenable, madame. If you could outline your terms we can discuss our payment-"

"Whatever you want, you name it. When do you start?"

Duststorm stopped slouching. Contagion's optics brightened with interest. For his part Tarn tilted his helm. "Within the orn, but we still have some business to settle on Luna-2. Tabs to close, property to return, payslips to pick up. Do you need us?"

"Soon." Hawkmoon looked behind her. Contrail and the Minicon had taken their discussion elsewhere a while ago but Deadlock and Soundwave remained, looking at her expectantly. "I'll be back later. We have to pay someone a visit. Soundwave, can you manage the groundbridge?"

"Response: affirmative."

"Get on it."

"Where, ah, are you going?" Tarn politely inquired.

Hawkmoon scowled. "Kaon."

The groundbridge deposited them within the bounds of a massive compound, larger than Contrail's and hammered almost entirely out of dark steel. Each structure had the impression of thorned ramparts or wicked spires. The skies were thick with the smog of relentless industry; Hawkmoon could feel the static of a coming storm on her wing sensors. The ground was dusty, caked with a thin layer of ash. A small, rickety-looking mech was waiting for them.

"Milady," he croaked. His optics were unnaturally dim. "Sires! Welcome-welcome!"

"I'm here for Clench," Hawkmoon stated brusquely.

The mech nodded rapidly. His paint had been scratched down to the plate. The occasional glint of something silver peeked out from beneath his armour around his neck. Hawkmoon's resolve only hardened. "This way," he squeaked, vocabulator glitching. "Master Clench waiting, yes he is."

The doors to the grand cathedral swung open. A pair of bored guards - thugs in dusty colours - fingered the hafts of shock-prods as they watched their approach. "No weapons-" one of them started to say, but Hawkmoon silenced him with a look.

"I'm not going anywhere without protection," Hawkmoon snarled. "So either you let me in or I leave right now. You want to tell your boss the bad news?"

The guards exchanged a look. One of them shrugged. "Head on in then."

She entered, Deadlock and Soundwave on her tail. The interior was both garishly opulent and depressingly muted. The walls were the same dark alloys of the outside, completely bereft of paint, but the light fixtures were formed from natural crystal. An illustrious rug had been neatly laid out across a floor to cover the scratches and scuffmarks. Some of them looked to have been made from fingers.

The slave led them up a steep stairwell to the summit of a spire, where it opened up into something halfway between a throne room and a zoo enclosure. One side rose up to the chair in question, upon which rested a mech clad in dark armour and a quality alien cloak, and the other dipped down to a plasma-barred cage in which several mecha with varying degrees of injury just... sat around. There were six guards evenly spaced out and with their backs to the walls. The slave darted inside, bowed to the mech on the throne and chittered, "Here, lord, here, the Emirate's arrived!"

"I can see that." The mech rose up - all smiles, all suave. He glided down the steps and curtsied before her. "My dear madame Emirate. I hadn't thought you'd bother to come in person."

"I was... convinced," Hawkmoon said with difficulty. She fought to keep the snarl from her voice, to keep her faceplates masked and her EM field closed in. She hated how his own field flowed over her - the slimy feeling of his... ugh, yearning. "You have an offer for me?"

"Straight to business? I can't offer you a cube of high grade?"

Hawkmoon wordlessly shook her helm. She heard shuffling as some of the mecha in the cage stood up to gawk.

The mech's optics darted around, as if only just noticing her companions. "Very well. I am Clench, lord of the north city, patron of the arenas, overseer of the fifth and sixth quadrant mines. I am at your service." He bowed again.

"Your offer," Hawkmoon reminded him.

His smile faded. "An offer? No no no, I should have phrased it better - a gift."

Her optics narrowed. "A gift?"

"This Drezhari business is... dire. I can recognize that, though I must say how you handled that creature in the senate? Wonderful, wonderful." He gestured behind her. "I showed these ingratiates a recording. Told them this is what a true warrior is. Oh, I wish they fought for me with the same fervour."

"A strange place to leave your gladiators," she said pointedly.

"Hm? Oh, well, easier to transport, easier to clear things up." Clench's expression sobered. "You're not the only one who wants to be done with this quickly. I know you're looking for fighters. I know the senate assigned you to the vanguard. A dangerous place, even for someone of your calibre."

Hawkmoon waited.

"We both know that dying to a mere Drezhari drone wouldn't do. I've cleared it with my friends in Iacon, they're more than happy to put some... room between yourself and the alien chattel." He clapped his servos together. "Bring them out."

Two of the guards walked to the cave. A portion of plasma bars fizzled out. With their prods the guards herded out all five mechs - each of them large, each of them built for battle, and each of them scarred from a lifetime of fighting. Like the slave that brought her in their optics were dim, some outright offline. All save one.

He was a head taller than her. His factory-steel plate was utterly devoid of paint and shaped much like Kaon's architecture - smoothly curving into wicked points. His helm was crest-less but reinforced, and his faceplates were grizzled, marked by battle and exhaustion and so much worse. His optics, though, burned with a fierce, manic energy. His servos, tipped with claws like her own if substantially thicker, were capped off and cuffed together. An iron clasp was nailed in across his mouth. His frame was that of a soldier, no question, but his stance was that of a beaten animal.

Hawkmoon wandered over. "Who's this?"

"I wouldn't get so close, madame," Clench nervously warned. She ignored him.

Soundwave followed her over. "Identity: Megatronus," he quietly droned.

Megatronus' optics flicked between the two of them, confused but aware his fate was up in the air.

"So you're the firecracker," Hawkmoon murmured. She raised her voice. "Why is he gagged?"

"Because my arenas can use upstarts who like to fight," Clench said bitterly, "but this one likes to involve the crowds. It used to be profitable. Now, though, he's become... a liability."

"So you're just sending him off to war?"

"He's a killer, madame. The front is where he belongs. It's where they all belong."

"Then how do you keep them in line?" She turned. Clench vented and motioned to one of the guards, who approached with a rectangular device.

"Compliance-controllers. We plant trackers in their spinal struts. If they step out of line, we... well, we shock them back into line. Or we kill them." Clench shrugged. "They have nothing to their name. We give them a purpose - but charity doesn't come cheap."

Hawkmoon bit down on the first words to spring to mind. They wouldn't have been kind. "All of them?"

"These five. They all follow him. As you imagine my fighting pits don't need... that."

"I see. Soundwave?"

Soundwave left her side. She heard Clench vent again rather loudly. "I'd have preferred to give it to you," he complained, but Soundwave sent her a confirmation he had the control stick. "Well, maybe next time. I understand you might be in a rush-"

"Release them."

Soundwave pressed something on the device. Hawkmoon felt as much as saw the tiny bursts of electricity flare from the back of each gladiator's helm. Their optics widened and they looked at each other with surprise, with alarm, before settling for staring at her.

Clench made an indignant sound. "What are you- ghk!"

Deadlock had drawn a blade and wedged it underneath the lord's chin. Around them, the guards bristled and raised weapons. Hawkmoon, unbothered, looped a talon around Megatronus' gag. He held perfectly still, optics boring into her own. With a flick she sliced through the screws attaching it to his helm. It fell with a clink to the floor. His mouth opened, fangs flashing in the light, and... he grinned through the luminous trickle of spilled energon. It wasn't a gentle thing.

"Are you going to kill us?" he growled. His voice was like a hammer wrapped in sandpaper.

"I'm freeing you," Hawkmoon uttered tonelessly, "from this sad sack of scrap."

Megatronus peered past her. "Are you killing him?"

"Tempted," Deadlock huffed.

"It wasn't in the cards," Hawkmoon admitted. "Soundwave?"

"Murder of lord: dangerous." Soundwave's blank visor twisted to her. "Murder: must not be on Hawkmoon's order."

"Not on my order," she echoed.

Megatronus' grin widened. It seemed more genuine this time.

"Emirate!" Clench shrilly exclaimed. "What- what's the meaning of this?!"

"The meaning?" Hawkmoon turned. "You came forward with an offer of slaves. Slaves! How'd you think I'd take it?"

"Let him go," one of the guards barked.

Soundwave's frame shivered. His plating flared out. "Enforcers: stand down."

"That's our lord you've got there-"

"No lord," Hawkmoon coldly snarled. "A criminal. Scum. I should've done this a long time ago; people are not property."

"The senate- ah, stop!" Deadlock had wormed the blade deeper, cutting Clench off.

"The Primes outlawed slavery. Their authority outweighs the senate's - and I serve the Primes." Hawkmoon reached into her arm and pulled the Nullblade free, pointing it in warning at the closest guard. "If the senate cries out, Soundwave here'll share what he's seen with the entire Teletraan network."

Clench sneered. "No one cares."

"I do." Hawkmoon twirled around, brought the blade down and severed the cuffs on Megatronus' servos. He flinched but rebounded quickly, flicking the broken shackles off. He peered down at her with narrowed optics.

"Thank you," he said softly - and flashed past her. Deadlock grunted as he was shoved aside, but it was immediately followed by Clench's sudden scream. A guard ran to intercede; Soundwave stepped in his way, caught his prod and grabbed the mech's helm with a tentacle, throwing him with force against the far wall. He didn't get back up. Another was tripped by a pair of gladiators; the Enforcer managed to shock one but the other tore the weapon out of his servos. After that they began smashing their cuffed servos down on him with savage glee.

A third tried to run her through. Hawkmoon twisted, caught their staff and headbutted them hard enough to crack their optics. A swift strike of the Nullblade's pommel to the side of their helm was enough to drop them.

"WHERE?!" Megatronus roared. He had Clench in a chokehold. His claws were biting into the mech's neck - hard enough to draw energon. "Where's the mass controller?"

Clench frantically pointed to the throne. "There- don't, ack- don't... kill-"

"I should," Megatronus growled. Then... he stopped. And looked to her.

"I'm not taking part in this," Hawkmoon told him. "I can't."

Slowly he turned back to Clench, his jaw shivering. His lips pulled back over fuel-slick fangs. With a mighty roar he hoisted Clench high into the air and threw him to the floor. A couple of struts outright snapped. Clench shrieked and tried to crawl away. Megatronus planted a sabaton on his back, clapped a servo on the mech's helm and pulled. Pulled until the muffled screaming stopped, pulled until the energon gushed out, until the sound of metal tearing pierced the air, until the struts cracked apart and Clench's helm separated from his chassis. Venting hard, Megatron held it aloft and roared again - not with anger, not with battlelust, but a great moan of pain. His optics crinkled shut.

"To the Pit!" he wept. "The Pit with you! The Pit!"

By then the other guards were dead or pacified. Only the slave remained, cowering in the corner. The gladiators turned to each other, tearing one another's cuffs apart and taking up fallen weapons. Deadlock and Soundwave gravitated to Hawkmoon's side - but she was moving, she advanced on Megatronus and when he twisted around, a blade ejecting from somewhere on his arm, she raised her servos in surrender.

"Easy," she said. He faced her like a cornered beast, all snarl and bite and trembling fury. "Easy."

With a ragged vent Megatronus retracted his weapon. It took a while for his limbs to stop shaking. "What now?" he asked coolly.

Hawkmoon tilted his helm. "Now? You're free. What's next is up to you."

Megatronus looked around, as if just realizing what they'd done. He nodded grimly.

"C'mon," Hawkmoon said, turning to the others. "Let's go."

Deadlock fell in behind her but Soundwave-

"'Wave. We're leaving."

Soundwave gazed at Megatronus a little longer before marching after her.

They only made it down to the courtyard before they heard the stomp of heavy pedes. Hawkmoon twisted, a shard carbine taking the place of a servo, but stalled when Megatronus and another gladiator appeared by the doors. "What are you doing?"

"We'll serve," Megatronus said. His faceplates had locked in place. His servos hung empty by his sides. The other gladiator was even larger, with rotors arrayed on his back like a cloak. "Blackout and I. We'll fight for you."

Hawkmoon blanched. "You're free."

"I know."

"You don't have to do this."

Megatronus studied her. "I choose to," he simply said.

Hawkmoon looked to Soundwave for help. He just stared back. "Alright," she said reluctantly. "But... why?"

"Because I saw you fight."

"... And?"

Megatronus raised his optical ridges. "Do I need another reason?"

"I don't think..." Hawkmoon shook her helm. "You're not indebted to me. I won't allow it."

Megatronus glanced at Blackout, then fell to a knee. Putting himself beneath her. "I want to know why myself."

"Why what?" she asked, growing annoyed.

"Why it is when you fight, the planet listens."

She flinched.

"I fought for vorns. I spoke for vorns." Megatronus' mouth twisted into a scowl. "But no one ever came."

She didn't say a thing. She didn't know if there was anything to be said.

"No one listened."

"I... wouldn't be so sure of that." Hawkmoon looked away, shamefaced. "Just... no one with the power to change things."

"Until now."

She vented. "We'll see how long that lasts. 'Wave?"

Soundwave tore his visor away from Megatronus. "Groundbridge: incoming."

The portal opened. They stepped through. Contrail was there, aghast, and he started shouting - but Megatronus collapsed and Hawkmoon ignored everything else. She knelt, looped his arm around her neck and hoisted him back up. Energon spilled down his side.

"Clench," he gasped.

It was explanation enough.

She waited patiently by the berth while Contagion attached the cyber-alloy patch. Megatronus had taken the soldering with gritted denta.

"You need to deactivate your pain grid," Contagion said for the umpteenth time.

But Megatronus just shook his helm. Contagion sighed and finished up. He left them be - Megatronus, Soundwave and herself.

"He snagged you pretty well," Hawkmoon commented.

"I've suffered worse," he muttered bitterly.

"He was your..."

"My owner?" Megatronus scoffed. "Since as long as I can remember."

"Master: no longer," Soundwave intoned. He took Contagion's place and knelt by Megatronus' side.

"That must be a relief," Hawkmoon siad.

Megatronus just looked at her.

She vented. "Noted."

"Why come for us?"

"Hm?"

"Why bother coming for us?" Megatronus pressed, scowling. "Why dirty your servos with him?"

Hawkmoon's faceplates hardened. "Because it's a disgusting practice. Because he had the audacity to draw my attention to it. Because I can't abide mecha like that: those who take and take without ever once giving to anyone else."

"So you let him die."

"I had nothing to do with that. As Emirate I'm supposed to uphold the Prime's laws and... censor those who break them?" Hawkmoon glanced at Soundwave. He blankly gazed back. "Somethin' like that."

"But you stood by while I killed him."

"Do you know what punishment the Primes mete out? Withdrawing the protection of the law." Hawkmoon paused. "I just manifested a little justice."

Megatronus snorted and sat up. "So what now, Emirate?"

"You can go. Soundwave can fire up another groundbridge to anywhere you want-"

"Don't take my words lightly, Seeker." Megatronus bared his denta. "I said I'll serve."

Hawkmoon, nonplussed, shrugged. "I'm no lord of Kaon," she said softly. "I won't force mecha to follow me."

He watched her. "I'll serve," he said again, "because I choose to. How shall I begin?"

She stood. "You can start by letting your self-repair take priority. I've got other hopefuls to parse through. Give it an orn at least."

"Contagion: advised two," Soundwave corrected.

Megatronus grunted. "No, one. I'll take one."

Hawkmoon nodded, satisfied. If it had been herself on that berth she would've been out and about by the turn of the joor. "'Wave."

Soundwave glanced at her.

"Nevermind. Don't be a bother."

His visor shifted. Her own voice played back to her: "'Don't be a bother.'"

She grinned and let them be, closing the door behind her. Deadlock was waiting outside, leaning against the far wall, and pushed away the moment she emerged. "How was it?"

"He's fine," Hawkmoon explained. "Still frazzled."

"Can imagine." Deadlock huffed. "That was... something. Iacon won't be happy."

"Iacon can get fragged."

Deadlock laughed. They emerged from the guest wing, found Skyquake waiting for them, and entered the groundbridge station with him. It was... busy. Contrail had left again some time earlier; Hawkmoon imagined it might've had something to do with her actions in Kaon. Dreadwing was there in his place, watching over Tarn and his mercs with a suspicious glint in his optics. The company leader was speaking with Blackout about one thing or another, though that quickly tapered off.

"Emirate!" Tarn warmly greeted, quickly stepping over to her.

Eleven sets of optics fell. There was nothing uniform about any of them - no matching paintjobs, no insignias, not a single thing. One mech was green with buzzsaws on the back of his servos, another was white with racing stripes and possessed a pair of flashing earfins; she saw a Minicon with Arc-ified coils pinned to his pauldrons, a spideroid demi-Insecticon with additional optics running along her twin horns, a pair of femmes near completely identical save for the different patterns painted on their faceplates

"Heard you've been busy," Duststorm quipped. Her scowl was gone.

"Unpleasant business," Hawkmoon replied. "Already put it behind me."

Duststorm and Tarn shared a look. "We're all agreed," Tarn told her. "We'll help you find and kill the Hellsong. That angel too."

Hawkmoon nodded her thanks. "Care to introduce me?"

"Of course." Tarn bowed with a flourish and swept his arm out. "You've met myself, Duststorm and Contagion. Those fellows over there? Our gunners: Stormclash and Skyburst."

That was the femme twins. Folded rotors hung down from their backs. Their protoforms were silver and their overlaying armour a deep navy, while the ends of their clawed digits were a pinkish-red. More stylistic red lines crossed their plating and ran down their rotors. Their faceplates were painted white for the sake of patterns not unlike Windblade's, especially around their optics. Skyburst bowed her head respectfully while Stormclash simply cracked a grin.

"Our demolitionists Crackdown and Wheeljack."

Wheeljack had the earfins and a battlemask across his lower faceplates. His eyes crinkled. "Ma'am."

The other, Crackdown, was a wide-set mech with one functional optics and frayed orange-red plating. "Eh," he grunted.

"Be polite," Tarn chided. "The others are specialists of their own domains: Mismatch, our resident aerial fighter, Conduit, our little saboteur, and Airachnid, our tracker."

Each of them gave greetings of varying enthusiasm, Airachnid most of all. She was the demi-Insecticon, as tall as Hawkmoon's shoulder and fitted with four long spider-like limbs on her back. Her frame was slim though clad in considerable armour, the plating midnight black with gold accents. Her protoform was a deep purple and her optics, all eight of them, a bright magenta not unlike Hawkmoon's own. Her faceplates were a curiously light shade of silver. A pair of small twisting horns rose sloping back from her helm. She wore a hungry smile, thin lips pulling back over needle-like denta.

"Emirate," Airachnid purred, shuttering all her optics and bowing lowly.

Hawkmoon inclined her helm. "A full crew."

"But not your only prospects, are we?" Duststorm asked pointedly.

"Do you mean Deadlock? Or our new guest?" Hawkmoon tilted her helm and indicated behind her. "Deadlock works for me now. He has as much interest in hunting the Drezhari leaders down as I do."

"And the gladiators?"

"We serve," Blackout said, echoing Megatronus. "Until the debt is paid."

Hawkmoon frowned. "There's no debt."

"There is." Blackout's rotors rattled. He lowered his helm deferentially. "I intend to pay it back."

"Can't help but notice a lack of Seekers," Contagion muttered.

Hawkmoon raised an optical ridge. "Can't imagine the Drezhari will leave their leaders in the open either. Wherever they're holed up, any Seeker'll be at a disadvantage."

"Yourself included?"

"I can make do."

"We've all seen your fight with the Afflicted," Tarn assured her soothingly. "We know what you're capable of. We're at your service, madame."

Hawkmoon nodded curtly. "Good to hear. I'll have to speak with Contrail regarding your lodgings."

"We'll find somewhere in Vos."

"Don't waste your shanix, I won't be long."

She found him in his office nursing a cube of highgrade. At the sight of her he groaned. "Hawkmoon."

"Contrail." Hawkmoon paused by the door. "I just want you to know I don't do the things I do to tick you off."

"I know." He trained his tired optics on her. "I should've kept you off-planet. And far from Soundwave."

"It wouldn't have made a difference."

"He did."

Hawkmoon pursed her lips. "I would've done the same thing whether he was there or not. Kaon-"

"Might be a cesspit but it's a powerful city-state nonetheless. The masters of Kaon pay richly in energon for Iacon to look the other way. Now every optic's on them."

"It's just Iacon-"

"Just the most influential body on the planet."

Hawkmoon scowled. "Slavery is illegal."

"I know. I saw the footage." Contrail vented. "Soundwave released it to the 'net."

That was quick. "I told him could do whatever he wanted with it."

"You don't get it, Hawkmoon. There are rules."

"I have rules too," she said quietly. "And ignoring that bastard wasn't one of them. He tried to sell me slaves. He told me their lives were forfeit - that I could... throw them away!"

"You're not responsible for them."

"I don't care."

Contrail groaned and turned his helm down to a datapad on his desk. "You sound like a revolutionary. Is that it? Is that what you want to be?"

"All I'm askin' for is some fragging decency. It's disgusting how hard people fight it."

A long, tense silence stretched between them. Eventually Contrail looked back up at her and nudged the datapad over. "Your orders, all the way from Fortress Maximus."

Hawkmoon took it up and skimmed it over. "Relocation?"

"The Revenant. A Quintesson-hunter in orbit. Built and armed for war. It's your captaincy."

"Kicking me out already?"

"Hawkmoon," Contrail warned.

She glanced back at him.

"My protection can only go so far. I see what you're doing but you need to stop. The Prime's not alive to cover for you."

She snorted. "I doubt he would've bothered."

"Don't let Iacon hear you say that. You benefit from the Prime's power but they'll only ever see you as an enemy. A rival. I can't keep covering for you; I serve Vos first and foremost."

Hawkmoon schooled her faceplates. "You are kicking me out."

"We're surrounded by enemies. Neither Tarn nor Praxus will ever side with us. Iacon only plays nice because we're one of two energon lifelines. And the other? You just declared war on it."

"... So this is it."

Contrail grimaced. "I'd rather it wasn't. I'm not going to wholly cut you out, but we need distance. Somehow I've a feeling you'll prefer that."

Hawkmoon shuttered her optics. "I'm not going to change."

"I'm well aware. Take your killers with you - mercs and gladiators both. And that... assassin." Contrail's armour flared. "I don't want him near my family ever again."

She nodded brusquely. "We'll be out in a joor."

"Hawkmoon-"

"What?"

Contrail flinched. He slowly stood up. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not." Hawkmoon turned on her heel and marched out.

She hit her own room first. Rook greeted her with a curious croon.

"We're leaving. Have anything to pack?"

Rook looked around and then back at her.

"I'll take that as a no," Hawkmoon said blankly. She gathered up her own sparse belongings and shoved them into storage. Rook fluttered to her shoulder and together they moved to the guest wing. She knocked on the door and peeked her helm in. Soundwave and Megatronus were just where she'd left them. Both looked at her expectantly. "Just got orders, we're moving to orbit now."

Soundwave nodded. Megatronus watched her a moment longer before lurching to his pedes.

"Should you be walking?"

He rolled his pauldrons. "Will I have time to recover?"

"Launch is still five orns off."

"Then I'll live. Lead on."

Hawkmoon stepped back, watching as Megatronus tried to hide his limp. She didn't offer platitudes; she doubted he was the kind of mech to appreciate moments of weakness. With one last frowning look she turned and cut over to the groundbridge station. Halfway there the Camiens fell in step with them - Chromia still stonefaced, Windblade throwing both her and Megatronus anxious looks.

"We're moving out," Hawkmoon said.

Chromia nodded. Windblade's expression was more severe. "So are we," she said tragically. "I'd hoped.."

"Hoped what?"

"It doesn't matter."

"We have to report back to Pyra Magna," Chromia said tersely. "For better or worse Caminus supports Cybertron. Your leaders will hear from ours shortly."

Hawkmoon offered her a fleeting smile that didn't reach her optics. "Don't suppose I'll see either of you on the battlefield?"

"You may. Good luck, Emirate."

"Don't die," Windblade said, and they stopped by the door. Everyone inside turned as she entered, staring past her.

Megatornus rumbled wordlessly, taking in the sight of the mercs. He stopped by her shoulder. "This is your band?"

"Yeah." What did it say about her that she preferred it to all the Enforcers, all the Elite Guard, all the Praetorians Cybertron had to offer? "We have a ship," she said, raising her voice. "The Revenant. We're to board as soon as is convenient. If anyone wants to back out, 'spose now's the time."

No one said a word.

"Right. Soundwave?" Hawkmoon darted through the datapad's contents and beamed the coordinates to him. "Can you open a groundbridge?"

"Soundwave: has a request."

Hawkmoon turned. "What is it?"

Soundwave's visor darkened. "Request: to join Hawkmoon's vanguard."

Contrail was going to kill her.

"If you don't have any other obligations," she said carefully.

Soundwave slowly shook his helm. "Resignation: sent to Contrail."

"When?"

"Now."

He was going to feed her to Insecticons. "That's convenient."

"Response: indeed."

"You're willing?"

"Affirmative."

"Then I don't see why not." And, other than further hindering Contrail, she really didn't. Eccentricities notwithstanding, she trusted him a little more than most other mecha - which wasn't a whole lot, but still. "That groundbridge...?"

Soundwave's frame shifted, armour relaxing around his protoform. His head snapped towards the groundbridge terminal and a flurry of glyphs crossed his facescreen. The portal yawned open. Hawkmoon, with Deadlock on one side and Tarn on the other, was the first to step through.

The first thing to greet her was the featureless helm of a short ground-based Cybertronian frame. It stared at her blankly with an orange visor, utterly bereft of faceplates of any sort, and quickly jerked to attention. It fired off an awkward salute.

"A Vehicon," Tarn mused. "Charming." He strode past the hapless thing - a sparkless drone, she found via a quick Teletraan search - and took in the sight of the bridge ahead. The ship was... not small, even via a Cybertronian perspective. A number of Vehicons operated a series of terminals beneath the command platform. Hawkmoon recognized comms systems, navigational stations and huge holoscreens depicting the ship's position and functionality. It was all quality tech, pristine condition, at least comparative to the Ketches and Cabal warships she was used to storming. It was a wild juxtaposition to the usual fare of Cybertronian ships she'd become used to too - even the frigates of Clan Krensha and her old formation's Aurorus shuttle.

"Ma'am," the first Vehicon greeted. Its voice was hollow, void of inflection or accent or life of any sort. "Welcome."

"Trooper." Tarn turned on it, optics bright. "What's your crew number?"

"Seventy-two service-rank Vehicons. Thirty-five combat-rank Eradicons. Two combat-rank Marauders. Crew awaiting orders of Emirate Hawkmoon."

The others were steadily coming through the portal. When the last of them trickled out Soundwave closed it behind them.

"Where did you come from?" Hawkmoon inquired.

The Vehicon looked at her blankly. "This unit was formatted in laboratory alpha-tri-quanta."

"Creation: overseen by Shockwave," Soundwave identified. "Purpose: disposable drones. Energon intake: low."

Hawkmoon studied the Vehicon a little longer. "Not gonna turn away free crew. How're our energon reserves?"

"The Revenant's energon capacity stands at eighty-six percent," the Vehicon recited. "This unit has been equipped with the programming necessary to operate mining equipment in the event these reserves fall critically low."

"You have energon miners?" Tarn asked sharply.

The Vehicon nodded. "Yes sir."

"By Primus, Emirate, you have no expenses spared."

Hawkmoon flicked her wings. "'Spose not. Trooper, I'm assigning this mech, Tarn, as the Revenant's security chief. Provide the permissions and quarters for his mecha. Soundwave - you're my communications officer. Sweep the place for bugs."

Tarn and Soundwave inclined their helms.

"Do we have an armoury?"

The Vehicon's visor dimmed. "Affirmative. Emirate Hawkmoon has administrative access."

"Extend that to Deadlock." Hawkmoon turned. "That should be right up your alley, right? I want to know what we're packing, both in hardware and configurations. Understood?"

Deadlock nodded readily. "Yep."

"I'll take the medbay," Contagion reluctantly chimed in. "If that's alright?"

Hawkmoon waved him off. "It's yours. Don't suppose anyone else has anything to bring to the table?"

"Uh." Wheeljack's earfins flashed. "I'd like to look at your munitions-"

"No," Tarn crossly cut off.

Wheeljack held up his servos. "Okay, okay-"

"Are we in danger?" Hawkmoon idly asked, amused.

Tarn shook his helm. He pointed to Deadlock. "Don't let him anywhere near explosives."

Deadlock tilted his helm. "I thought he was your demolitionist."

"Not on-ship."

"Alrighty." Hawkmoon looked to the rest of them. "If that's everything, make yourselves at home."

The Glitched dispersed. Megatronus lingered until Blackout and Soundwave led him away - ostensibly to find him suitable quarters to recharge the rest of the orn. The Vehicon took Deadlock to find the armoury. In their absence Tarn turned to her, kindly optics sharpening to needle points.

Hawkmoon raised an optical ridge. "What?"

"What are you planning?"

"Excuse me?"

"With Megatronus."

"Nothing. He chose to be here."

Tarn studied her. He shuddered and stepped away. "I apologise."

"You're a listener?"

"Madame?"

"You listen to his speeches too?" Hawkmoon glanced down the hallway. "Soundwave's an avid fan."

"I could tell." Tarn paused. "Duststorm's from Kaon. We've passed through enough times to be sick of it."

"Pit of a city."

"You know there'll be optics on us so long as he's here?"

Hawkmoon shrugged tiredly. "When isn't there? I've got enough infamy as is."

Tarn chuckled. "Should we expect excitement?"

"We're headed into hell, mech. Fragging yes we should." Hawkmoon gestured to another Vehicon waiting on standby. "You. Where's the captain's quarters?"

It perked up. "Just this way, milady. Please follow this unit."

Her new chambers were spartan at best - a berth, a press full of empty energon cubes and a single holoterminal directly linked to the bridge. Hawkmoon looked it up and down for cameras, listening bugs, even electromagnetic sensors and came away with nothing suspect. She wondered if that was entirely due to Kalis' general disinterest in her or because Iacon had already written her off.

A chime at the door grabbed her attention. She opened it to find Soundwave waiting, an energon cube in each hand. "Come in," she told him, and sat on the berth. Hawkmoon gratefully took the cube he proffered. "How is he?"

Soundwave stilled. "Megatronus: lives," he said dully. "Request: to be alone."

"He has a lot to think about," Hawkmoon mused.

"Soundwave: agrees."

"Something you should try doing."

Soundwave questioningly tilted his helm.

"You left Contrail quick," she explained. "Can't help but feel it was a little... I dunno, hasty."

"Soundwave: has already considered this. Hawkmoon: more volatile element."

"So you tried being volatile yourself?"

"Hawkmoon: has potential to yield more immediate results."

Hawkmoon frowned. "You have something in mind?"

Soundwave stalled. "Yes," he said simply.

"Want to share?"

"... Soundwave: seeks dissolution of caste-system installed by Sentinel Zeta Prime. Caste-system: has outlived usefulness. Cybertron: needs growth: Cybertron: must survive."

"And Megatronus...?"

"Megatronus: similarly volatile element. Aims: similar to Hawkmoon's. Aims: similar to Soundwave's."

Hawkmoon's optical ridges climbed. "Contrail only just called me a wannabe revolutionary, but damn if you're not the real thing."

Soundwave looked at her.

"You're worried I'll tell someone?"

"Negative."

"You sure?"

"Affirmative. Soundwave: has watched Hawkmoon. Deduction: Hawkmoon has no reason to betray trust."

Hawkmoon leaned back. "How far do you want to see this through?"

"Length: to the end."

"... We'll see where we stand after the Drezhari. If we're still alive by that point."

"Soundwave: optimistic."

"Yeah, well, you haven't seen war just yet." Hawkmoon got to her pedes. "How about we get a lay of the land? I want to see everything this ship's packin'."

Soundwave rose and walked with her.

The rest of the orn passed easily enough. Hawkmoon logged the ship's winding corridors and myriad rooms down into her memory cores as a priority; she had a feeling she'd need to get used to it sooner rather than later. By the approach of the off-cycle she and Soundwave wandered into the mess hall, where Duststorm and some of the other Glitched were refueling. Deadlock was animatedly regaling them with one tale or another and distractedly waved them over. She caught a couple of curious glances but otherwise all attention returned to him and his story.

"-and the nasty fragger went for a blade," he said cheerily. "No warning, no hesitation, nothin'."

Hawkmoon sat down at the bench opposite. The femme next to her, the demi-Insecticon, shifted closer. "Emirate," she purred.

"Airachnid," she replied.

"Guessing you handled him," Duststorm said drily.

Deadlock shot her a look. "Yeah, sure, put him on his backside. Frag no. Everything went to the Pit. Couldn't start shooting because - Rust Sea. You don't know what'll hear it, definitely don't wanna know what might come looking."

"I fought a couple of its critters," Blackout murmured. He was on Hawkmoon's other side. "Worse than scraplets."

Deadlock nodded. "Exactly. This was deep sea too. So I just kicked out his struts and hightailed it outta there. Closest Polihexian outpost was a three orn drive. Waited for twelve. Mech never turned up. 'Course, the Iaconians didn't like that - no Ascenticon remains, no reward."

"That's just part of the job," Duststorm scoffed. "Gotta roll with it."

"I had proof enough."

"And if the slagger comes out vorns later, ravin' about sea beasts?"

"Then props to him. Fragger earned those shanix."

Wheeljack and Conduit laughed.

"He hasn't stopped once," Airachnid whispered. Her field brushed Hawkmoon's own - all legs and blades and dripping fangs. She naturally closed hers off.

"Here." Duststorm shoved a cube over to Hawkmoon. She would've passed it on if not for the streaks of pink swimming in blue.

"Didn't think they'd pack high grade on a military ship," Hawkmoon commented. "How'd you manage this?"

"It's ours," Duststorm explained. "From our last job. Tarn likes us happy when all's said and done."

"Whose share is this?"

"His, but don't read into it. He never partakes."

Hawkmoon nodded soundly and took a sip. The energon was strong, but the quality wasn't quite as refined as she was used to. More impurities - though not unsafe, according to her tanks.

"He's a bore," Airachnid complained. One of her legs twitched and touched her wing. Hawkmoon didn't think it was accidental - not from the look in her optics or the quirk of her lips. "Can't say I expected a Seeker to join us, though."

"I like shattering expectations," Hawkmoon responded. She raised her cube. "Thanks."

Duststorm shrugged. "Mismatch would've overfueled otherwise. We've got a backlog to work through."

"That Luna-2 job must've been big."

"Just busy. Airachnid's sway can only stop so many Insecticons."

Hawkmoon nodded slowly, pretending to understand. "Big nest?"

"Luna-2's covered in 'em."

"Don't take it any of you are from there?"

"Conduit's from Luna-1 and that's about the closest." Duststorm leaned forward. "You just want to know how Air got her kibble."

"Created with it," Airachnid said flippantly.

Hawkmoon looked at her. "Met someone like you."

"Oh?" She tilted her helm.

"Blackarachnia."

"The lady of Freeport Azal?" Airachnid's faceplates twisted. "A visionless creature."

"Relative?"

"No."

"Hm. But you knew her?"

"Faintly." Airachnid shrugged. Two of her spider-legs moved with her. "We shared a format-lineage."

"Where're you from?"

"Eukaris."

Hawkmoon searched the term up. The results that trickled in mentioned 'colony' and 'beastformers', but a second search ruled out any known relation to Clan Krensha. A brief skim revealed a governmental system with laws almost as strict as Cybertron itself. "And the rest of you?"

"Tarn's... from Tarn, obviously," Duststorm explained, grinning. "Conduit I just said, Wheeljack here's a Crystal City dropout."

Wheeljack shrugged and looked away.

"Contagion's a Velocitronian-"

"He's from Velocitron?" Hawkmoon questioned incredulously. "Aren't they, y'know... fast?"

"Hence why he's out here sluggin' it with us." Duststorm threw back the last dregs of her cube and slid it down the table. A waiting Vehicon collected it. "I'm Kaon-forged, Crackdown and Mismatch are Kalisian, the twins are from Caminus and... sure, you know your own people."

Her own people. It felt weird hearing it. She'd never been much of a leader. Few Hunters were. That was something they never really jived with. What was stranger was that... it didn't bother her. Not quite so much as it used to.

But then again, Hawkmoon soberly reflected, she wasn't a Hunter anymore.

And though she talked and laughed with the Glitched until the off-cycle passed them by, that single line of thought didn't fade from her mind.

The first faceplates she saw the next orn belonged to Megatronus, if only because Soundwave entirely lacked any. The two were speaking about something down the hall from her chambers but seeing her they fell silent. Megatronus looked at her with that same perpetually guarded expression. "Emirate," he growled, though she sensed no venom in it.

"Mechs." Hawkmoon watched as Rook launched from her shoulder, enticing Laserbeak to disengage from Soundwave and fly down the corridor. "You're up early."

"I've had my fill of recharge," Megatronus simply said. The soldered alloy on his side looked to have melded into the plating well enough.

"Good." Hawkmoon turned her helm. "Soundwave. I'd like a report on the Revenant's combat capabilities as soon as possible-"

"Soundwave: has already studied the vessel's schematics. Soundwave: has investigated functionality of its systems. Report: in progress."

"Very good."

"Emirate."

Hawkmoon faced Megatronus again. "Yeah?"

"Clench hadn't lied."

She frowned. "About?"

"He showed us your fight." Megatronus bared his denta, but not in a smile. "He teased us with it."

Hawkmoon stiffened. "I played no part in that-"

"I know. But I want you to."

"... You want me to... what, exactly?"

"To spar." Megatronus' plating tightened. He was... nervous. She almost laughed. The mech was bigger than her, built from helm to pede to fight and kill, and he was nervous of her?

Funny mech.

"You want to spar with me?" She tilted her helm.

"That's what I said." Nervous but growing impatient. His optics narrowed.

"I'm not making fun of you," Hawkmoon said quickly. Her wings rose of their own accord. "But are you sure you want this?"

"Yes."

Hawkmoon vented quietly. "Soundwave, will you referee us?"

"Affirmative. Soundwave: shall alert Contagion in event of injury."

"I don't pull my punches," Megatronus warned.

"Neither do I." Hawkmoon indicated down the hall. "There's a room two levels down we can use."

Soundwave constructed with old scrap metal lying about a flimsy square in the middle of the room.

"Weapons?" Megatronus asked, stepping past her. "Or servos?"

"Safer with servos for now," Hawkmoon said warily. She watched as he turned on his heel and loosened his pauldrons. "Don't want to leave you leaking."

Megatronus shot her a shark-hungry grin. Then - he moved for her. Hawkmoon dodged, blocked the other clenched servo aimed for her side and rose on a brief jet of her thrusters to the edge of the square. He didn't bother following; she was the quicker frame by far. Instead he waited. Hawkmoon, sporting a thin-lipped grin of her own, didn't leave him hanging. She fired towards him, twisted around his reactionary strike and slid her claws along his upper arm. He tried to turn, tried to put her in front of him, but her digits found purchase and Hawkmoon dragged herself out of his reach. Megatronus bucked, he threw himself around - and when she caught the edge of his helm he fell still.

The first round went to her.

"You prefer to grapple," Megatronus said after their third bout. He spoke with the cold, clinical tone of someone who knew damn well what they were talking about. "To use my weight against me."

A holdover of her human days, but Hawkmoon didn't express it as much. She was used to being dwarfed by most everything the deep black had to throw at her. "Anything smaller doesn't really stand a chance," she admitted, nursing a dent on her shoulder. He'd taken the second round and the third hadn't really ended in either of their favour.

"Smaller mecha aren't to be underestimated," Megatronus chided. He tried to push in on her, press her defence. Hawkmoon darted around him; he struggled to keep her in sight. "What if someone tries the same tact against you?"

Hawkmoon waggled her claws. "Something like this."

He laughed.

By their seventh match Hawkmoon felt a flicker on the edge of her EM field and realized they'd drawn an audience. Tarn, Airachnid, Blackout and Deadlock stood off to the side with Soundwave. Megatronus almost took her helm off for looking. "Optics on me," he snarled.

Hawkmoon replied by driving her knee under his chin. He staggered back, energon streaming from his mouth, and his plating flared out defensively. Hawkmoon rocketed forward and punched him so hard a strut in her arm buckled. His reinforced helm held firm but his optics flickered. With a roar he surged forward, slammed a servo against her chassis with enough force that her canopy cracked and threw her to the floor. Hawkmoon rolled awkwardly and danced back - and when he came for her she transformed, driving talons down into the ground to hold her firm. Megatronus, taken aback, tried to wrap an arm around her neck but Hawkmoon used her dragon mode's tail to launch her forth, snaking her jaws around his shoulder and wrapping him up in her wings. The pair of them tumbled, all swinging fists and lashing claws, until she ended up on top and closed her craw on his wrist.

It wasn't a killing blow but Hawkmoon tightened her hold just enough to let him know she could've ripped his servo off. With a grimace Megatronus relaxed. Hawkmoon levered herself off and reverted back to bipedal form.

"That shouldn't have surprised me," he admitted. She offered him a servo up and he took it. "But it did. You're a triple-changer?"

"Close-quarters doesn't do my jet-form any favours," Hawkmoon admitted.

"You used the same form against the angel. What is it?"

"Ahamkara."

Megatronus' optics showed only the barest flickers of understanding. "A dragon?"

"Something like that."

"I've never fought a dragon."

"Can't recommend it."

They left it at that. Hawkmoon remembered Deadlock saying something but the words escaped her. Blackout nodded to her - like she'd won something. Soundwave took her and Megatronus away from there, guiding them gently towards the medbay. Contagion was already waiting, his faceplates contorted into a scowl. Wordlessly he scanned their frames and pulled at their dents with magnets. A small energon line in her arm had torn; that required a quick incision to reach and then a careful patch-up to solder the cables back together. Her struts ached though that, she was told, was something her self-repair would have to fix on its own.

But she honestly couldn't have been happier.

The rest of the orn involved kicking back with a cube on hand and looking over the Revenant's schematics, coupled with a quick report from Soundwave and Tarn both regarding its security systems and how intruders might access them.

"Airlocks are secure," Tarn explained, "and the hangar doors are reinforced. Blast-shielding will hold - at least until we run into a capital ship or two."

"Drezhari cryptships are short on the firepower front," Hawkmoon said distractedly. "From my experience they prefer fielding automated drone swarms and tractor beams."

"In that case I'd still be wary of boarders. I'm not sold on the Revenant's ground-bridge blocks."

"Soundwave: will oversee restricting ground-bridge access. Dampening fields: require upgrade."

"See if Fortress Maximus will authorise it," Hawkmoon told Soundwave. "I'd prefer the best hardware over blackmarket spares."

Tarn hummed thoughtfully. "If we can install those upgrades soon, we should be prepared."

"Soundwave: shall operate quickly."

"What about these Vehicons?" Hawkmoon glanced Tarn's way. "They said Shockwave made them-"

"Shockwave's famously apolitical," Tarn assured her. "So long as you're aboard they answer to you above all else."

"How do they fare in the field?"

"They're bodies. Not much more I can say than that. Eradicons will keep the heat off living mecha and they're usually a higher grade than alien drones, with limited tactical awareness too, but they're hollow. No inspiration, no initiative. They'll follow orders to the letter and not one step farther." Tarn paused. "They make for better crew. I'd usually prefer a couple of mecha to oversee their efforts but what we've got will work wonders. The Revenant's an efficient beast; she'll fill in for any shortcomings."

"What's her battle count?"

"Can't say. She was there for the end of the Quintesson Wars, that much I know." Tarn hesitated. "I assume you saw-"

"I did." Hawkmoon grimaced. In the depths of the ship, in one of the older rooms whose functions not even the Vehicons understood, there'd been an... effigy. An old rusted carcass had been nailed to the wall and left to hang. Her own wings twinged with phantom pain, remembering how she'd suffered the same under the Hive's care. It wasn't a Cybertronian body, though; Soundwave had identified it as a Quintesson Prosecutor, one of the officer castes. Unlike the dead Judge she'd seen on Tai Prime it was more in line with a mech's size, with a comparable chassis and helm. The mouthparts were different, the optics multi-faceted, but the biggest differences were the limbs. In place of legs it had anti-grav propulsors and instead of arms it possessed tentacles. The cause of death had been energon starvation. The Revenant's old crew had captured it just to kill it slowly. If nothing else the sheer cruelty had left her spark crackling and her processor frozen.

This was war. For all her willingness, for all her need to see it through, Hawkmoon was terrified of jumping back into it. She'd barely survived the last one.

On the third orn, two off from launch, they had visitors. Hawkmoon was woken and alerted by Soundwave out of recharge and marched up to the bridge after a quick trip to the washracks. Tarn was already assembling his pack when she arrived. Deadlock joined her immediately, breaking away from Blackout and Megatronus. The gladiators, though, stuck out like a sore thumb. They didn't know what to do with themselves. If only to put them at ease she fell in with them and subtly indicated for Soundwave to bring them up the date. The mech nodded and immediately set to work.

A couple of joors passed before a groundbridge opened and five mecha stepped through, each stamped with the emblem of the Elite Guard. At the head of the group was a tall, armoured mech painted blue-and-red, with decorated pauldrons shaped like towers. She knew who it was, courtesy of Soundwave, and lowered her wings deferentially. "Ultra Magnus."

The mech looked around at each mech and femme in turn, optics hard and faceplates set in a frown. "Emirate Hawkmoon."

"Something we can help you with?"

"Perhaps." Ultra Magnus motioned to one of his guardsmechs. They saluted and, with another soldier in tow, set off down the hall. "I understand you've gathered contractional warriors."

"Given the lack of instructions I presumed I had the freedom to do so," Hawkmoon replied.

"A squadron of Elite Guardsmechs could have been provided if only you asked. The Prime's resources, my resources, are your own."

Hawkmoon inclined her helm. "I suppose so. Too late now."

Ultra Magnus looked past her. "Damus."

"Sire," Tarn said with difficulty. "It's..."

"Been some time."

"It has."

Ultra Magnus moved on to the next mech - Megatronus. The gladiator defiantly stared back. Ultra Magnus' optical ridges furrowed. "... Emirate."

"Yes?" Hawkmoon assumed an innocent expression.

"... Fortress Maximus intends for the commanders of the fleet to convene aboard the Galaxus the off-cycle before launch." Ultra Magnus turned on his heel. "Your presence is expected, your input anticipated."

The two guardsmechs returned, saluting again. "Clear," the first said.

"What are you looking for?" Hawkmoon inquired.

Ultra Magnus half-turned. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

The groundbridge roared open behind them. Ultra Magnus and his mechs walked through, and it closed with a hiss. Hawkmoon twirled around. "Soundwave-"

"Soundwave: will investigate." Soundwave took several Vehicons and disappeared from the bridge.

Hawkmoon vented hard and turned to Tarn. "You know him?"

Tarn shivered. He stared off at the space the groundbridge once occupied. "I did."

She pursed her lips. "Anything I need to know?"

Tarn looked at her suddenly. "Just old history," he said, and stiffly walked away. Hawkmoon looked to Duststorm but she shrugged helplessly.

"They came to intimidate you," the rough voice of Megatronus whispered into her audioreceptors. He leaned in close, optics shining.

Hawkmoon tapped her claws against her palms. "Sounds petty."

"The Masters did the same in Kaon. These Iaconians are no different." His faceplates twisted with disgust.

"Slavers by any other name," Airachnid murmured. She shot Hawkmoon a querying look. "Couldn't have anything to do with that mess in Kaon, would it?"

Hawkmoon's wings rose high. "If so, that's a them-problem."

She avoided almost everyone else after that - not for any fault of their own, but Hawkmoon needed to focus. She talked with Soundwave and, occasionally, Tarn regarding their own plans. No further comment was made on Ultra Magnus, or that he knew Tarn, or that he knew what she presumed to be Tarn's real designation. Apparently his soldiers had only gone so far as to quickly check over the ship's internal security systems. That they did so without involving her was... irritating. But she had more pressing things to worry about.

"The Galaxus is still docked in Kalis' Elex Shipyards," Tarn explained. "Per new military protocol, all groundbridge activity in and out has been blocked."

It struck her that the Scrambler in her chassis might've been a sister-device to whatever Fortress Maximus was using to keep mecha out. "So we're expected to fly in," Hawkmoon surmised. They didn't have any shuttles aboard - an oversight that didn't feel accidental. "I can't imagine moving the Revenant over Kalis would go well."

Tarn's look said it all. "Yourself and Soundwave are flight-enabled," he said. "Most officer-castes bring tactical aides when in the war-room. You also have the option to bring additional staff - a security detail and such."

"Spoken from experience?"

"Some."

"Hawkmoon: remains a target," Soundwave cut in. "Drezhari: will have marked her for priority termination. Agents: may yet be at large. Odds of Afflicted seeded in war fleet: forty-seven percent. Senate: poses additional threat. Probability of retaliation over Kaon incident: sixty-three percent."

"You'll need armour by your side," Tarn agreed. "That Deadlock mech - he's your bodyguard, yes?"

Hawkmoon shook her servo flippantly. "Something close. I'd trust him with it too, 'cept he's a grounder. Can't exactly follow me in."

"I'd offer Contagion but... he's not quite right for protection detail." Tarn paused. "You could groundbridge into Kalis, though the exposure will be dangerous."

"Megatronus: is flight-enabled," Soundwave innocently mentioned.

Tarn and Hawkmoon looked at him. Soundwave stared back.

"I suppose he is," Tarn said carefully, "but that comes with its own host of... baggage."

"You don't like him being here?" Hawkmoon inquired with a frown.

"What? Oh, of course I do, madame. His speeches are exemplary. He's right in everything he's ever said - but that's just it. He's a firebrand. There will be optics on this event. What happens in the war-room might not be for public knowledge, but who goes in? Everyone'll be watching."

"Cybertron: already knows Hawkmoon freed Megatronus," Soundwave observed.

Tarn grimaced. "And too right that you did, but this will send a different message altogether."

"You don't agree with it." Hawkmoon frowned.

He hesitated. "Permission to speak honestly?"

"You shouldn't have to ask, not with me. Granted."

"... If you choose this path, I'll follow you. Most of my pack will too. Duststorm- No. Not for me to say. Nonetheless you should know we have reason to believe in Megatronus' message. But you showing the world you stand with him, with what he stands for? The effects will ripple across the planet. I'm warning you only as a professional courtesy. I doubt the other commanders will care overly much, yet this could have lasting consequences should we survive this war."

Hawkmoon nodded slowly. She did see what he meant - and yet hated that the most pragmatic option always had to come dressed up as something else. Why couldn't everyone just be practical? "What are our alternatives?"

"Blackout is flight-enabled too. As is Airachnid. And the twins."

"Soundwave: advises that Hawkmoon enlists all six," Soundwave said. He leaned forward with rare urgency.

"... Fine. Call for Megatronus," Hawkmoon decided, faceplates schooled. "We'll ask for his own opinion."

Soundwave bowed. His visor flickered. "Megatronus: has been alerted."

It wasn't long before the door opened and Megatronus stalked inside. He was as high-strung as ever, grinning toothily, and his bloody optics fixed on Hawkmoon. "You summoned me, Emirate."

There was a note of bitterness in his voice. Hawkmoon stood. "I want your opinion on something," she corrected.

His optics shuttered. "My opinion?"

"You're flight-ready, aren't you?"

"I am."

"... Tarn and Soundwave tell me I could be in danger if I go to the Galaxus, but you know as well as I that it ain't optional. Tarn insists I bring protection. As a result of Fortress Maximus' no-groundbridge policy, I need fliers for that. Soundwave proposed you join me, alongside Blackout and Airachnid."

Megatronus faltered. His smile fell. "To... protect?"

"Is something wrong?"

"... No." He straightened. "You want me to agree?"

"I want you to have a choice," Hawkmoon said carefully. "I'll extend the same to the others. I'm not gonna take action against you if you refuse."

"I'll do it," Megatronus readily rumbled.

"Well. Okay then." Hawkmoon looked to Soundwave and Tarn. "Anything to add, boys?"

Soundwave's visor shifted to display a holographic view of the Revenant. "Hawkmoon: should practice flying with proposed mecha. Reason: avoid accident upon arrival."

"You mean avoid embarrassing ourselves."

Soundwave silently nodded.

"If you're game," Hawkmoon said, throwing the query Megatronus' way.

His helm inclined. "I am."

The final preparations were over. Soundwave had ordered parts and components for what few systems in the Revenant needed repairs or upgrades and they left Tarn in charge of checking everything over. Seven of them launched from the Revenant's hangar and gave themselves over to Cybertron's outer orbit. Hawkmoon watched the others fall in line behind her; they weren't Seekers and their flight pattern naturally didn't match, but they weren't clumsy fliers. There'd been a bit of a worry first with Megatronus, as he wasn't used to long-range flights, and then with Blackout for helping him acclimate his alt-mode to higher speeds (Stormclash and Skyburst had to show him how they could retract their rotors and fall back on thruster power alone), but after that they resembled something... cohesive. Suggestively organised at least.

They surfed on the edge of Cybertron's gravity, crawling through the great expanse of nothing, until Kalis twinkled below them and Hawkmoon led them in a near sheer dive. Soundwave had marked the Galaxus' position for her; the shipyards stood in the city's upper levels, in the secure war-tech development district. It was to her understanding an age-old custom for Kalis, despite its smaller city-state status, to be one of the more tactically influential bodies in wartime. Like Vos it was an avid developer of weapons, but unlike Vos their best and brightest were almost strictly war-frame types - soldiers, not explorers.

The shipyards hung over the city's northern edge like a great key-shaped spindle, each branch laden down with ships like overripe fruit. The Galaxus made for a big apple, situated near the top of the mast, five times the Revenant's size and capable of holding several hundred mecha. Idly, Hawkmoon wondered what a Cybertronian warship would have looked like in the Red War - or, hell, what a difference a Cybertronian would have made on the battlefield. At Twilight Gap at least, when the Fallen were at their worst, they might've spared the City some of the hurt. Certainly dozens more Guardians would have survived.

And then she wondered whose side they would have taken. Hawkmoon didn't like that quite so much.

They swooped low, at level with the warship, and Hawkmoon forwarded a ping with her own permissions. The response was wordless and immediate; hangar doors groaned open and the cannons tracing their progress turned away. She twisted up as they entered the artificial atmosphere of the Galaxus' interior and transformed with a flourish. The others landed behind her - not so graceful, not so prettily. Megatronus just crashed down, legs braced to absorb the impact.

A watching grounder approached, saluting quickly. "Ma'am Emirate. Welcome to Galaxus."

Hawkmoon inclined her helm. "We early?"

"Almost." The grounder turned and, ignoring the small crowd gathered nearby to watch, pointed to the back of the hangar. "Elevator's that'a'way. Fifth level's the command deck. Commander's waitin'."

"Thanks." They moved quickly. Megatronus and Soundwave took up position on either side of her, all four helicopters right behind. It almost felt like a raid team. Passing mecha quickly moved out of their way, staring either at her or Megatronus himself. The elevator was just about big enought to fit all of them. The doors to the command deck opened to reveal a pair of armed Kalisian soldiers.

"Hold," one said. "Identify yourselves."

Soundwave's visor flashed quickly - each line of glyphs an ident-code. Hawkmoon followed it up by shortcasting her Emirate permissions. The soldiers looked at one another and ushered them onwards. They passed through another series of checkpoints before all but stumbling into the mother of all war rooms - easily three times as large as that of the Taishibethi and filled with five times as many mecha. Some were represented by holograms, most were solid. Many were no more than aides and comms operators. Hawkmoon noticed Fortress Maximus immediately, if only because he stood well over everyone else. The mech, painted red, white and blue, was half the size of a combiner. Beside him she saw the Prince Avion, Ultra Magnus, and a mech with a single large optic on a helm devoid of faceplates, one servo entirely replaced with a plasma cannon.

"Emirate on deck!" someone shouted. The nearest soldiers slammed servos to their chassis. Hawkmoon stilled as a hundred pairs of optics turned to her, though most quickly switched to the mech beside her. A wave of whispers rippled through the room.

"Emirate Hawkmoon!" Fortress Maximus called out - though Hawkmoon felt it was his usual conversational volume. "Come!"

The masses parted before them. Hawkmoon marched over, stonefaced, and waved for her entourage to keep a few steps back. "Sir," she said stiffly.

Fortress Maximus regarded her bemusedly. "I hear you've formed a kill squad."

"As I told Ultra Magnus, I hadn't received word troops were going to be assigned to me-"

"I admire your initiative. And knowing your familiarity with Drezhari, I'll trust in your judgement."

Hawkmoon, taken aback, recovered quickly. "Thank you."

Fortress Maximus turned to the cycloptic mech. "You were saying, Shockwave?"

In the most monotone voice she'd ever heard the mech gestured to the massive holotable. A projection of interlocking hexagons appeared. Hawkmoon recognized the glyphs for Cybertron and Caminus grouped together, and then the one for the Drezhari set against them at seemingly random. "Regarding the enemy's positions, we're limited to a half-dozen outposts and independent territories claimed within the last quartex. Their homeworld is known to us. Their colonies, their forward garrisons, their shipyards are not. Freeport Azal was their most aggressive move to date."

"That we know of," the Prince Avion murmured.

Shockwave hardly spared him a look. "Our intelligence reports are significantly lacking. Our prior neutrality should not have entailed limiting surveillance efforts."

"I was barred from sending scouts by the senate."

"An illogical decision. It's likely this was engineered by influential Drezhari agents."

"Or Iacon was willfully ignorant."

Ultra Magnus bristled. "Careful, sir-"

"Emirate." Fortress Maximus glanced down at her. "You've crossed the Drezhari abroad. Anything to add?"

Hawkmoon vented. "Caminus won't be any more aware than us, but the Eimin-Tin Stratocracy has been warring with them since the incident on Penchant."

"We were discussing this earlier. From your reports the Stratocracy has existed in harmony with local beastformer clans, correct? Do you think it likely they'll receive emissaries?"

"They view us differently to the Drezhari," Hawkmoon explained. "Their own tech is derived from ours. To them, the Drezhari are unfeeling machines, but Cybertronians are equals. People with worth and rights. I think they'll leap for the chance of help. And they wouldn't be the only ones. Sir, the Taishibethi occupy the world of Deliverance - it's not far from Caminus. They've similar cause to war on the Acquiestical."

The Prince frowned. "I don't know this Deliverance."

Hawkmoon beamed him the coordinates. "Glacial world orbiting a black hole. They settled it recently. The Drezhari attacked them early on their arrival this side of the Divide."

"These..."

"Tai."

"These Tai," Fortress Maximus rumbled. "These are you saviours, are they not?"

Hawkmoon nodded. "They took in my old formation when we came under fire from Hive, and they helped me push back the Drezhari raiders in the Caminus system. Like the Eimin-Tin they have every reason to join us."

"... A four-way offensive would certainly work in our favour. And it would avoid us having to split up our fleet." Fortress Maximus passed his servo over an old scar across his chest. "My Prince, are your Seekers amenable?"

"I'll have Institute diplomats launch in the joor," Avion responded. He looked her way. "Every child of Vos serves in their own way. Well done."

Hawkmoon, knowing it would be expected, lowered her wings deferentially. "Sire."

"Here." Fortress Maximus waved a servo and the hologram shifted. "The Freeport Azal, or what remains of it. We know from survivor reports the Drezhari launched the attack from the neighbouring Mazu system - they previously held it for the sole purpose of mining local ores. Our analysts now believe they're using it to store the spoils of their conquests before they head back home. These machines value much the same things as we: operable ships, capable weapons, pre-forged frame parts, but most importantly energon. Let me make this absolutely clear, this is our priority. The Drezhari have forced our hand. The senate has authorized us to divert half of every city's energon stores to the war effort. We are now fighting to fuel our planet. If we fail, or misuse our limited supplies, Cybertron will fall back into famine.

"Therefore, unless absolutely necessary, each and every energon reserve we locate is to be captured and siphoned. Fuel-ships will be making return trips with every step we take into the lair of the alien. Prince Avion, once the skies over Mazu-Era are clear your armada will clear the fields around these sites. Shockwave, your troops will seize them. Once you have done so, the fleet will come to collect."

"And me and mine?" Hawkmoon asked.

Fortress Maximus shook his helm. "The Revenant will hold until we reach the Drezhari nest. We need your force in fighting shape until we know where this angel resides, Emirate. Once we've taken Mazu-Era, and then secured the wider Mazu system, this will be our new muster point. From there, pending a response from Caminus and other potential allies, we'll chart a path to the aliens' homeworld itself."

"This plan is logical," Shockwave droned.

The Prince Avion curtsied. "It will be done, commander."

"Good. We launch in seven joors, but the armada warps in five. Make your preparations; when the Galaxus arrives, I want the Drezhari's fleet in shambles."

They emerged from the war-room a joor later. Following Fortress Maximus' plan was wave after wave of logistics; Hawkmoon tried to pay attention, to stay involved, but it became quickly apparent that she wasn't necessary for any of it. Soundwave had offered his own input when Ultra Magnus inquired after the Revenant's readiness, though other than that they stayed silent. It was a relief to finally be dismissed - the rest of the fleet's administration largely fell on Shockwave's shoulders.

"Shockwave: highly analytical," Soundwave told her as they emerged onto the hangar bay. "Processor: outfitted with additional computational modules. Cost: emotional cores."

"Grim," Stormclash commented. Skyburst elbowed her.

Megatronus tutted. "He shouldn't have done that. Where's his pride as a Cybertronian?"

"Pride: deemed illogical."

"Doesn't sound fun," Blackout muttered.

Airachnid chuckled. "His loss," she said, sneering. "But I'd love to have a look inside his helm."

They were stopped by a soldier just before the flight deck. Hawkmoon sighed and prepared to beam her permissions - again - but the Kalisian bowed apologetically. "Ma'am, someone to talk with you."

Soundwave perked up. Megatronus growled and inched closer. "Who?" he demanded harshly.

The Kalisian glanced between them, looked to the side and back off. A waiting pair approached - a mech and femme, one a Seeker and the other boasting both the kibble of a flight-enabled frame and a grounder's automobile form. The mech, the Seeker, was the taller of the two and his armour was a uniform purple, plated over silver protoform. His faceplates were gaunt, his optics a pale white, and a pair of horns jutted straight up from his helm. The femme, the triple-changer, wore a coat of dark grey paint. The only real colour on her were her yellow optics and the violet visor that fell over them. A battlemask formed over the rest of her faceplates. Wheels jutted from the back of her calves and at her shoulders. Their ridged, segmented armour was rather unique. It looked... archaic. Antique. From another time entirely.

"Emirate," the Seeker said. "Designation Cyclonus."

"Designation Nightbird," the triple-changer followed up.

Hawkmoon's ridges rose of their own volition. "Can I help you?"

"No, but we want to help you," Nightbird replied.

Cyclonus looked her and her entourage over critically. "You intend to kill the Hellsong, correct?"

"... Yeah?"

"We'll join you."

Hawkmoon frowned and looked at Soundwave. His screen turned blank. After a moment's pause he commed her. ::Identities: confirmed in Vosian records. Cyclonus: former denizen of Vos. Nightbird: former denizen of Harmonex. Status... :: Soundwave's frame tensed. ::Presumed deceased in aftermath of spacebridge network collapse. Cause: Rust Plague.::

Hawkmoon's frown only deepened. "Who the frag are you?"

"We said-"

"Names don't mean scrap."

"I know these ones," Airachnid said suddenly. Soundwave stepped aside as she approached. "You fought over Eukaris."

"A petty skirmish," Cyclonus said tersely. "One of many."

"But that was centavorns ago. During the Empire's expansion."

Soundwave suddenly jolted. His helm snapped towards them. "Cyclonus: partook in Quintesson purges."

Silence lulled between them in the wake of that one damning statement. Cyclonus slowly inclined his helm. "We did what we had to."

"We do what we must," Nightbird finished. "We've fought the alien before, Emirate. We're willing to do it again, if you'll have us."

Hawkmoon took in the sight of them - tense, almost glaring, ready for a fight at any moment. "Who sent you?"

"No one."

"Who commands you?"

Nightbird scoffed.

"No one," Cyclonus sternly repeated.

"Not even the Prince?"

"Which one?"

"Which- What?"

"We haven't been home in... a while," Nightbird revealed. She looked to Cyclonus. "I think they're called Avion."

"Don't give a frag," he retorted. "Emirate. Will you have us?"

Hawkmoon hesitated.

::Soundwave: will watch them,:: Soundwave assured her.

::And if they turn out to be Afflicted?:: Hawkmoon fired back. ::You said the Drezhari might be looking to retaliate.::

::Solution: insist they surrender to Contagion for deep-frame scans. Installed malware: will not escape detection. Hawkmoon: will keep distance until cleared.::

::This is a risk, 'Wave.::

::Vanguard:: in need of troops.::

"Frag." Hawkmoon vented a sigh. "Are you willing to go through deep-frame inspection?"

"We aren't Drezhari puppets," Cyclonus hissed, optics narrowed.

"I could check for you, Emirate," Airachnid purred. She sidled close. "Let me look at their processors."

Nightbird tilted her helm. "You... you're a Fatespinner, aren't you? From Eukaris."

Airachnid froze. She bared her denta. "Please, Emirate-"

"If we allow the scans," Cyclonus interrupted. He only had optics for her. "Will we be clear to join you?"

"Yeah."

"So be it."

"I'll watch them," Megatronus said, turning to her.

Hawkmoon nodded. "I'll alert Tarn and Deadlock. We should head back immediately. You two, follow our trajectory - but keep your distance."

They had another surprise waiting for them aboard the Revenant. Soundwave only alerted her to it when the airlocks flushed the chemicals of Cybertron's smog-ridden skies from their plating. The door opened, Hawkmoon stepped through - and ignored the hopeful expression of Orion Pax completely. "Tarn," she greeted.

Tarn glanced between her and the scribe, whose field thrummed with confusion. "Madame?"

"These two." She waved behind her. Megatronus, Blackout and the newly-arrived Crackdown all but penned the irritated Cyclonus and amused Nightbird in. "Is Contagion aware?"

"He's prepping his tools." Tarn clasped his servos behind his back. "I'll take them to him myself." He led the newcomers off - and Hawkmoon at last turned to Orion. Soundwave hung to the side.

"Does Alpha Trion know?" was the first thing she asked.

Orion nodded, though reluctantly. "He wasn't pleased."

"How'd you organise this?"

"I asked Soundwave."

Hawkmoon turned to Soundwave, optics narrowed. "We need to talk. Later."

Soundwave wordlessly bowed his helm.

"And you." She pointed at Orion. "Don't get in the way."

Orion's faceplates fell. "I'm sorry. I didn't-"

"Look. This is a warship. We're headed into a particular kind of hell that leaves me envious of the Pit. Any other ship, you might've been fine. But this? We're a kill squad. Our mission is an assassination. The risks are... very fragging high. And you - you're not a fighter." Hawkmoon shook her helm. "You're just dead weight, Orion."

"I can serve-"

"I really hope you can, because I don't know what the frag I'm supposed to do with you. Look. If this is because of Megatronus, just say it."

"It... did sway my decision," he admitted. "I heard you freed him-"

"Orion." Hawkmoon scowled. She vented harshly. "Look, I'm going to ignore your personal reasons for being here. Give me something better. What can you do for me?"

"I..." Orion paused. "I can make a record."

"... Of?"

"The mission. This is a historical moment."

"It's war."

"Yes, I... I know." He grimaced. "I can't fight for you. I don't believe in it. But I can help. I've read some Drezhari texts; I can decode their transmissions for you."

"Soundwave?" Hawkmoon glanced to the side.

"Proposal: is valid," Soundwave said, hesitating. "Orion's expertise: valuable."

"I can help you coordinate with your alien allies too," Orion said, growing bolder. "Alpha Trion permitted me to download diplomatic programming packets several vorns ago. The Eimin-Tin-"

"I can handle the Taishibethi just fine," Hawkmoon warned.

"Oh."

"But..." She shuttered her optics. "Fine. You can help with the Stratocracy, if they're game. We still don't have word if they're interested in an alliance, let alone a coordinated campaign."

"I want to help, Emirate. When the Prime... died..." Orion shifted uneasily. "It shouldn't have happened. I want to do right."

"Zeta Prime wasn't your fault," she said, a tad harsher than was necessary.

"I have a responsibility as a Cybertronian as well as a mech of Iacon."

Even the mere mention of the city further soured her mood. "I wouldn't go around flaunting that," Hawkmoon warned. "Not on this ship."

"I'll... try not to." Orion averted his optics. "I didn't mean to offend."

"Look, find yourself a cabin and get yourself settled. Fragging Primus." She dismissed him with a sharp motion and marched away fuming. The sharp clank-clank-clank of heavy pedes told her she still had a couple of followers. Hawkmoon didn't stop until she found a viewport facing away from Cybertron and stopped to study the foreign constellations.

Stormclash, her sister just behind, stopped a distance away before edging closer. "Emirate."

"I'm not a drill serjeant," Hawkmoon grunted. "You're free to go back to your room or find the others or make your final preparations - whatever floats your boat."

"We're already prepared."

"Then why are you still here?!" Hawkmoon twirled around, faceplates twisted with anger - and instantly regretted it. "I... I'm sorry."

Stormclash looked at her quizzically. "He must be quite the Iaconian."

"Orion? Just... some fucking idealist." Hawkmoon offlined her optics and leaned against the glass. "He doesn't belong here."

"Clearly."

"Look, I'm sure you mean well, or maybe you don't, but..." She groaned. "I need to be by myself before we launch." Hawkmoon stepped around her, felt the faint feeling of concern on Stormclash's EM field, and headed straight back to her room. She didn't see anyone else on the way. There wasn't any other noise from inside so Rook was probably still playing with Laserbeak. Hawkmoon tapped the access panel and the door opened-

And Augur stood waiting for her on the other side. Panting, head held low, tails shivering.

"What do you want?" Hawkmoon demanded.

Augur peered up at her, more haggard than ever she'd seen him before. "A gift," he croaked. "From Her to me, from me to you."

"What are you talking about?"

"I searched far and wide. For your weapon - one fit to kill a god. Come, look." He darted inside and stopped by her desk. Sitting beside the pile of deactivated dataslates was... something Dark. Hawkmoon could feel the dormant aura, the energies seeping out all the way from the doorframe. The closer she walked the more suffocating it became - until it coiled tightly around her thoughts, her struts, even her spark.

Hawkmoon's servos clenched. "Who gave you this?"

Augur trembled. "The Traitor. She... she found me. She's near. She's watching."

"The Traitor-" And then she remembered. The veil, the mask, the skin like glassy obsidian. "Augur. What is this?"

"Power," he said, and she couldn't refute it.

The weapon wasn't like any kind she'd ever known. It didn't have the shape of one. The feeling it exerted was another matter entirely. Even so, artefacts of Darkness usually took different, more menacing forms. Hawkmoon struggled to understand from just looking what it entailed, what it was supposed to be.

The object in question, after all, was nothing more than a length of frayed red string.

AN: Big thanks to Nomad Blue!