[Fic] Orion and the Arkanauts

[legios]

Ratchet leaned against the window, looking down on the expanse of the city of Landing spread below him. The capital city of Cynthia was built on a truly gargantuan scale – the monumental scale of its buildings a testament to the cities need to serve the needs of all its inhabitants, whether they be the macro-scale Tyroxian's or post-Cybertonian's, or micro-scale representatives of the Exodite, Humanian, Cekarian or any of the half-hundred other species which made up the cosmoplitan culture of Cynthia. He marveled again at the polyglot nature of the world he had found himself reawakened upon. He remembered the shock and confusion that the Ark crew had felt, reawakened on a world populated by tiny organic beings. How strange his old comrades would have found this world, where so many different species both organic and mechanical lived and worked alongside each other – an example of peace between species that had fought so many wars over the centuries. Ratchet liked to think that his old friend Optimus would have been proud to see so many cultures flourishing in the freedom that Optimus had insisted was their right. Ratchet smiled at the thought, and then a shadow crossed his expression as he remembered that Optimus was gone, that everyone Ratchet knew was gone and that he alone remained to see this wonderful sight.
“Ah, there you are. I'm not disturbing you am I?” A warm, throaty voice emanated from nowhere in particular.
“No, sorry. I was just brooding Ishtar,” Ratchet shook his head.
“Sorry, I'm not used to you...”
“Missing my friends and comrades?” Ratchet suggested, not unkindly.
“Yes, you had become so sanguine, so accepting that you had survived them all,” the voice replied, “before...”
“Before the accident?” Ratchet offered. The corroda gravis accident which had required his body and processor be placed in stasis, whilst the impossibly difficult process of researching a process of successfully transfering his brain module to a new form without contamination was researched. An operation in which there had been... complications, “I really have to learn to be better at my backups don't I?”
“Yes, yes you do,” Ishtar scolded him, “but that wasn't why I came looking for you.”
“That wouldn't have taken long,” Ratchet observed – as an emergent property of the neural network linkage technology partaken by almost all of Cynthia's population, Ishtar couldn't really be said to 'be' anywhere in the first place.
“Yes, but it is a lot less dramatic if I just know where you are instead of having to search the towers and spires to seek you out.”
“Would there be a lot of authors and artists on the network at the moment?” Ratchet mused out loud, amused by the playful tone in Ishtar's voice. He was still getting used to the way Ishtar's personality would shift and change dependent on the natures and personalities of the sentients connected to the global network at any one time.
“Well why wouldn't there be? Don't tell me you missed it!”
“Ok. I shall refrain from telling you.”
“Half the planet saw it, but you missed it as well. K'tharias, the Tyroxian director. Coriolanus?'
“Sorry, I was still trying to catch up on the last fourteen hundred years history, “ Ratchet observed.
“Oh honestly, we'll probably never see anything like it again. The full original Human Text, but in the late Humanian translation, and with production design that set the whole thing at the Court of Star Saber in the late years of his reign, but substituting the Diaclone Diaspora waves for his Armada... You've missed out on something truly special.”
“Sorry, I do like a good story but perhaps I can catch an encore performance.”
“Don't be ridiculous, the whole production is already on its way to Tyrox, command performance for the Senate. And then they'll be headed for Waruder and off on a Galaxies Tour. But if you like a good story...”
“Yes, actually you left me hanging a while back. You were telling me about then end of Star Saber's reign, his Armada and..” Ishtar interrupted him,
“No, not that. It is a sad story, with a sad ending. It isn't the day for that,” there was a silence for a moment, “but I know what I can tell you. I can tell you the story of one of your friends. Not the story as you know it, but the story as it came down to the people of Novaxus.”
“Post-Imperial/Human Exodite fusion-culture, colonised one of the Fahl Galaxies when they were opened up. Weren't they cut off in the Great Upheaval?” Ratchet thought it was the right time to show off that he had been understanding all the history he was trying to catch up on, not just memorise it.
“Yes, but they re-established contact about a thousand years later, they had built their own strange matter accumulation and reconnected the wormhole. But their culture had been developing by itself quite rapidly,” Ishtar cleared her non-existent throat dramatically, “are you sitting comfortably?”
“I'll stand, I'm a robot after all,”
“Then I'll begin. This is a tale of long, long ago, in a time when great heroes walked the worlds and challenged the very Gods themselves. A time of legendary warriors, and code-sourcers who knew secrets long lost to us now. There are many tales from these times, but this, this is the tale of...

Orion and the Arkanauts
(translated and retold from the original Novaxian by Ishtar of Cynthia)

Many years ago, the Homeworld of Cybertron was divided into many city-states. They contended amongst each other through their culture, the strength of their warriors, and the beauty of the temples that they constructed to honor the Light Gods. But for all that they contended their was one city-state which all new was the strongest, the wisest and the most faithful amongst them. And so Iacon stood as a beacon of light and accomplishment, ever overshadowing the others with its light. The rulers of Iacon, the line of the Primes, stood as guardian's of the great temple of Primus, lord of the Light Gods, and often they sought enlightenment and deeper understanding of the great plan by staring into the light of the Matrix Flame which burned at the heart of the golden Temple of Primus.

For many years Iacon stood unchallenged at the head of the city-states of Cybertron. But there rose a mighty warlord in the land of Vos. Some say that he was the general of Vos armies, and one of the strongest warriors that had ever been seen in the land. Others that he was a gladiator, rising through his strength in the arenas to take his place at the head of an angry mob which removed the King of Vos from his throne and raised up their favourite in his place. Whatever the truth, this warlord was cunning and battlewise, as well as strong of actuator and sharp of optic. His reach encompassed the nearby city-state, the calculating Lord of Tarn bowing his knee rather than waste his life in futile battle.

The Warlords armies had soon united many citystates under his banner, and the warlord declared that by right of conquest he would be Hegemon of Cybertron and lead the whole world to a great destiny. Many believed that he spoke the truth, and that this Hegemon could not be stopped short of his goal of an empire of all the world. The Prime of Iacon at that time was an aged mechanoid, but one who had seen many would-be tyrants rise and fall, and he declared that Iacon would not bend its knee to any warlord, and that he would never be permitted to enter into the precincts of the Temple of Primus.

The Hegemon was angered by these words and, ignoring the counsel of the former Lord of Tarn – who argued that it was not wise to risk the wrath of the Light Gods by marching on their favoured city so soon – he gathered his armies and lay seige to Iacon. His armies encamped outside Iacon's walls, and waited for their opportunity to assault the city which had never, in all of history, fallen to an aggressor.

Within the city the Prime knew that his time was fast approaching, and he commanded the priests of the temple to make ready the the Prime who would come after him. He chose from among his court not his mightiest warrior, or his most learned sage. Instead his gaze fell on a lowly scribe, who laboured to record all the moments of this great and terrible time. He called this scribe to him and told him that soon the Prime's time would come, and that he would pass beyond the knowledge of living Cybertronians and learn the truth of Primus' plan for himself. He declared that this simple scribe would rise to become the new Prime, and would be the saviour of his people in the dark times ahead. This scribe, Orion was his name, protested that he was not worthy, that he did not deserve such an honour. The Prime replied that it was not an honour that he bestowed upon the young Orion, but a great burden.

Meanwhile, outside the city some of the Hegemon's advisers grew restive. Whilst the former King of Tarn counselled that they should strike quickly if they must strike at all, and lay the Iaconian's low before they could rally other City-States to come to their aid, the Betrayer of Nova Cronum – the aerial warrior known to all as Starscream – counselled caution. He feared that in investing the favoured city of the Light Gods they might bring the wrath of the Gods down upon their heads, and he feared what that might bring about. The Hegemon declared that he had no fear of Gods, Light or Dark, and that he would dare anything. But to quiet the murmurings of discontent within his army he agreed that the forms of things would be obeyed. He commanded the leader of his aerial warriors to go out amongst the peoples, and bring forth one of the peripatetic priests of the Light Gods who roamed the land ministering to their flock.

In due time Starscream found such a travelling priest, who went by the name of Trion. Trion was brought before the Hegemon, who demanded that he commune with the Light Gods and seek a vision of whether the Hegemon would suceed in overthrowing Iacon and its Prime. Trion made the proper propriations and called upon the Light Gods to send him a vision of their will. Then he spoke unto the Hegemon. Trion told the Hegemon that the Light Gods had sent him a vision of what would happen if the Hegemon were to attack the City of Iacon on the Morrow. The Light Gods had shown him that the Hegemon's armies would thrown down the gates of Iacon, and that at their head the Hegemon would march into Iacon and lay low their champion, and slay the Prime himself on the very steps of the Temple of Primus. The Hegemon demanded to know if his rule would be eternal, as his heart desired. Trion replied that the Hegemon would unite all the City-States of Cybertron under his rule, and that he would rule for many years. But, Trion warned, the Hegemon should beware, for although he would slay the Prime on the morrow, the Prime's air would one day return and be his undoing. Trion warned the Hegemon that he should beware of a 'bot with one fractured leg, for the coming of this 'bot would mark the time of the Hegemon's fall.

The Hegemon laughed, for he did not fear the future or the coming of an heir to the Prime. The Hegemon declared that the he would send his most resourceful assassins into the city at the head of his armies, and they would ensure that the Hegemon's heir was slain, ensuring that the Hegemon would rule over Cybertron forever.

So the Hegemon returned to his armies and declaimed that the Light Gods had promised them victory on the morrow. He girded himself for war and had his bearers bring up his arms of war. The Royal Sword of Tarn, with its edge which it was said could shear through a mountain, the flail which had become the Hegemon's symbol of martial prowess, and his terrible Fusion Cannon, whose light and fury had laid waste to cities.

["i]Is he meant to be...”
“Probably, don't you think?”
“I think they may be overselling him just a little.”
“It's a myth, and besides none of them had the fortune, miss or good, to have actually met him. Name-dropper. Now, may I continue?”
“Yes, sorry.”[/i]

The Hegemon girded himself for war, and marched at the head of his armies to the great gates of Iacon. The wrath of his fusion cannon laid low the gates, and the Hegemon lead the charge into the city. The defenders of Iacon stood firm, and met them with the lightnings of their guns, the strength of their arms and the titanium steel of their swords. In the heart of the swirl of battle the Hegemon clashed with the champion of Iacon, Garn, stories of whose valour and skill at arms are still told to this day. Garn declared tha he would not retreat even one step and met the Hegemon's steel with his own shining sword. Garn fought mightily, and did not retreat even one step, but under the bludgeoning blows of the Hegemon's flail his guard eventually crumbled and the Hegemon drove the Sword of Tarn deep into Garn's frame, slaying him where he stood.

Emboldened by their leader's victory the Hegemon's army surged forward, overpowering Iacon's defenders. The Hegemon met the Prime in combat on the Golden steps of the Temple of Primus and slew the aged 'bot without mercy. Whilst the Hegemon paraded the detached head of the Prime as a trophy before his troops, the stealthiest of his assassins padded through the flickering shadows into the Temple of Primus.

Before the altar of the Matrix Flame stood the Prime's heir, ready to be bathed in its fire and remade by his destiny. The High Priest turned from his recitation of the Primal Pentateuch and looked deep into the shadows, as if he could see the master assassin where others could not.
“You seek to profane this holy place with violence,” the High Priest demanded. The assassin padded out of the shadows, his dark form seeming almost to drink in the light of the Matrix Flame and give nothing back. “By what right do you bring violence into this place, sacred to the Lord of the Light Gods?” the High Priest demanded once again.
“My master commands the death of the Prime's heir,” the assassin growled, nodding to the form which stood motionless in front of the ever-burning brazier, “it is his life alone that I seek to take, but if you offer resistance I wil take yours as easily.”
“I am a priest of Primus, sworn to his service, not a warrior or a taker of life. My oaths bind me to offer succor to all and violence to none. But before you do violence in this place dedicated to Primus, think you of how he will evaluate your immortal code once you pass beyond this shell to become one with those who have been before.” The assassin snarled contemptously and stepped past the High Priest. The Prime's heir did not move, perhaps resigned to his fate, as the Hegemon's assassin drew himself back on his haunches and flayed the heir with burning fire and cleansing proton light. The assassin withdrew as silently as he had come, leaving the remains of the Prime's heir to litter the floor of the Temple.

The Hegemon was raised up into the throne of Iacon by his followers, and happily accepted the glory that they heaped upon him. But in truth the greatest glory came from by the side of his throne, as his assassin padded up to take his place at his master's side.
“Is the deed done?” The Hegemon demanded, even has he waved his hand in acknowledgement of the rapturous cries of his soldiers.
“It is done,” growled the assassin. The Hegemon sat back onto the throne of Iacon, as he did so putting from his mind the last words of Trion's prophecy. With no heir to the Prime he would rule, and rule forever, and Cybertron would be as one nation under him for all time, and great things would be accomplished.
And all the while, in the hidden tunnels beneath the City, a Priest of Primus led a robed and hooded acolyte away towards the borders of the land and a journey which would take him to far off Gy-unsi.

Next Week: The 'bot with one fractured leg...

[Andy Turnbull]

Excellent stuff Kaptain.

Some freshly weekly text fiction is most welcome!

Andy

[Grand Moff Muffin]

Jolly good!

Martin

[legios]

Thanks guys, unfortunately my bout of physical distress in the middle of the week put me behind schedule a bit. But, better late than never:-

-----

Thus it came to pass the the Hegemon did rule for many decades – which are but the blink of an eye in the mind of the Light Gods – and many of the City-states came under his rule. And in his name were built many great works, and the City of Iacon was remade in his image. But the Matrix Flame that burned in the Temple of Iacon guttered low and shone only weakly. Meanwhile Orion, under the name of Pax – given to him by the priests of Primus as their last gift to him that his identity might be hidden until the right moment – was fostered amongst the wise 'bots in the mountain holdfast of Boltax. And Orion learned many things and accumulated knowledge, but all the time his circuits burned with the knowledge that the Hegemon sat upon a throne which was not his by right and that his armies marched abroad on the world conquering City States which had always stood independent. And so fate, in which we can often discern the hand of the Light Gods, determined that Orion would leave the precincts of Boltax and found himself drawn to the shores of the Petroleum Seas which once marked the border of Iacon's territory.

It came to pass that on the same day the Hegemon had seen fit to wander abroad in his territories, as he had taken to doing. He set out on a hover platform to see how the labours of his subjects were altering the realm which he had claimed. He flew above the fields of solar collectors which had been erected in the once beautiful plains of Iacon, and above the mineheads of the Manganese Mountains where the miners laboured to extract the raw materials which his plans required. He travelled far ahead of his bodyguard, as he often did, fearing not that anyone would strike him down for he remembered that it had been propheciesed that the only one who could lay him low was the heir of the Prime, whom he had slain. Thus the Hegemon came to the shores of the Petroleum Sea and turned to follow the line of the coast. It was then that his hover platform malfunctioned. Hitting an area of different magnetic density perhaps, or some mechano-electric defect, caused the platform to buck, and the Hegemon to fall into the Petroleum Sea.

By chance, or fate, or the will of the Light Gods, Orion happened to be walking along the cliffs of the Petroleum Sea at that time, and he did observe the Hegemon topple from his hover-platform and fall into the dangerous currents of the Petroleum Sea. Having learned compassion from the scholars of Boltax, and possessed of a tempered iron courage, Orion did not hesitate. He hurled himself from the cliffs and into the seas below. Even when he caught his leg on one of the sharp edges of the cliffs, fracturing the armoured casing of his lower leg, he steeled himself and did not cry out.

“Steeled himself? Really, are there going to be any more of these puns?”
“Are you questioning the accuracy of my translation?” If Ishtar hadn't have been an AI she might well have sniffed.
“Of course not,”
“There are a lot of recognised experts in Consensus at the moment, so I'd hope not.”

Orion plunged into the Petroleum Sea, striking out strongly with the strength of his mighty limbs. He reached the Hegemon, who was caught in one of the dangerous currents and being pulled further out to sea.
“Fool, now you shall be swallowed by the sea along with me,” chided the Hegemon.
“Do not fear, take me hand and strike out strongly. Together our strength is a match for the waves,” Orion declared, taking a firm hold around the Hegemon's chest. Together Orion and the Hegemon struck out againsty the water with their limbs, slowly but surely conquering the current with their strength and determination. They clawed their way back towards the shore, and dragged themselves up onto the beach on which pounded the waves of the Petroleum Sea. They pulled themselves up onto the shore and the Hegemon turned to thank the 'bot which had come to his rescue,
“You have my thanks, for coming to my aid in such perilous circumstances,” the Hegemon declared. But as he turned to look at his rescuer he saw something which filled him with sore disquiet. This tall, powerfully built bot, the Hegemon saw had a fracture in the armour of one leg. At that moment the Hegemon remembered the prophecy which the soothsayer had given him on the eve of his conquest of Iacon, and he regarded his mysterious saviour with cunning optics as he thought on what he had once been told.
Orion tried to brush aside the Hegemon's thanks, for he saw what he had done as no less than any 'bot would do if he saw another in distress. But in the Hegemon's mind even this was suspect. Was it an attempt to get close to him and slip a thermal knife into his processor? But he gave no sign of his suspicions, instead extending his hand and a promise of hospitality to the newcomer. Orion pleaded that he had weighty concerns which he must attend to, but the Hegemon was insistent – this 'bot had probably saved his life, the least that he could do was accept the hospitality of the grateful. In all this the Hegemon was careful not to reveal his name and when his errant bodyguard caught up with them he signalled them to do likewise, and sent them on ahead to bring warning to his camp that he was bringing a guest who was not to know who the Hegemon truly was.

And so Orion joined the Hegemon at his travelling camp. Musicians played the digital ballads of Iacon, and rare vintages of fuel were unbroached for the Hegemon and his guest. After a time the Hegemon steered their conversation around to a topic of his concern.
“You say that you had important tasks to do,” he observed, “what tasks are these of such urgency that leads a 'bot to wander the land alone?”
“I have walked the City-States on my journey from Boltax towards Iacon,” Orion told him, “and I have seen much. There are great constructions being thrown up in the name of the Hegemon of Iacon, and he has brought many Cities together in his unity. But still I feel a disquet in the all the land. The common 'bot worries that the Light Gods have turned their backs upon us. There are dark rumours that the Matrix Flame itself has been extinguished.”
“And yet we have more prosperity than we have known in a thousand years,” the Hegemon opined, “we gather enough energy that all of our ancestors would acknowledge us rich”
“Riches alone are not enough. Our people need a sign that the Light Gods have not abandoned them, that they have not turned their faces away from us,” Orion declared, with the certainty and passion of the untested.
“What sign would you bring them?” The Hegemon asked.
“Once, long ago,” Orion told him, “we gave a great gift. The Creation Matrix itself, wellpsring from which the Matrix Flame draws its life-giving fire and the anvil on which the Primal Sword itself was forged was given to our friends on far-off Quintessa that its light could bring life back to their ashen world. I propose to travel to Quintessa and return with the Matrix, bringing its light back to Cybertron. Then our people will see that Primus and the Light Gods have not turned their back upon us!”
“Quintessa is far away,” the Hegemon observed, “and the journey would be perilous and dangerous indeed.” He hid the joy that this thought brought him, “a task for a true hero indeed. But perhaps a way that I can repay the debt which I have to you. You will need a ship, and I will engage the finest shipwright to produce such a vessel.”
“It would need to be a mighty vessel indeed to make the voyage through the deep black to Quintessa. I would not have you beggar yourself for my sake,” Orion began,
“Fear not,” the Hegemon declared, “for I am the Hegemon of Iacon and I swear that the treasury of Iacon will suffice to build such a vessel.”
“You are the Hegemon!” Orion looked at him in shock,
“I am, and I swear that together you and I will create a new golden age on Cybertron,” the Hegemon told him. To himself he thought that if Orion should perish – as surely he must - in the dangers of this journey, then this would rid him of a potential foe. And perhaps there were yet things he could do to make that fate a certainty...

The Hegemon prevailed upon Orion, in the name of hospitality, to rest himself from his long journey in one of the camps portable habitats. Orion wished to lead immediately to his feet and make a beginning on the fashioning of a ship to bear him across the stars to Quintessa. But the Hegemon prevailed upon him that he should rest himself, accept the hospitality of the grateful, and assured him that he would send word to his greates artificer to begin work immediately on the great undertaking. And Orion, raised to an understanding of nobility, compassion and those things that made a ruler to be great, was persuaded and retired himself to the habitat intending to rest for a regenerative cycle.

And the Hegemon, seeing that Orion – or Pax as he believed his name to be – had retired himself called for his swiftest messenger and ordered that he carry to Iacon word that the greatest shipwright in the all the world be found and commanded to at once begin work on a mighty vessel to carry a hero to the stars. The Hegemon's messenger flew himself at once to Iacon carrying the Hegemon's words to his loyal chancellor who awaited in the great palace. In the meantime the Hegemon beckoned to him the commander of his flying legions and bade him offer his mind of these events. Starscream, for such was this commanders name, spoke that he did not trust this Pax, for all that he saw no treachery on his heart Starscream feared that his fervour and his bold proclamation did not bode well for the Hegemon's reign. The Hegemon knew that Starscream was more cunning than his tongue did sometimes belie, and that – though he would overthrow the Hegemon if he could – he respected the Hegemon's power and cunning as superior to his own.
“I would not see this Pax succeed in his voyage across the stars and return with the Matrix. Such a symbol can only rouse the people to dream of the bad old days when our world was in thrall to the senile old puppet Primes. Tradition-bound slaves of the Light Gods. I would not have our dreams of greater empire dashed,” The Hegemon said slyly, “I would reward handsomely the 'bot who joined this expedition and ensured that Pax perished in his quest. Great lands and riches would belong to him who did this thing.”
Starscream struck himself mightily on his chest, the very picture of the loyal vassal, all the time his optics fixed on the promised rewards,
“Lord Hegemon. I, Starscream the Mighty, slayer of the wielder of the R-Blade and greatest warrior ever to take to the air, shall do this thing and none other shall do it.” The Hegemon nodded his assent to his lieutenant's self-aggrandising oath,
“Then on the morrow you shall swear yourself to Pax and promise to join him on his quest, foreswearing not your oath to me to see him destroyed before it is at an ending.”
“I so swear my lord,” promised Starscream, the taint of avarice on his tone.

Orion retired himself to the habitat which had been prepared for him, and prepared himself for the rest of a regenerative cycle. But the entrance to the habitat was swept aside by the entrance of another 'bot. Orion turned to look, expecting to see the Hegemon seeking further words with him. Instead he saw a 'bot of aged design unknown to him. This was Trion, the priest of Primus who had prophecied the Hegemon's victory over Iacon. The Hegemon, pleased with the evident wisdow of his words had favoured Trion with a place at his court, even as the order of Primus' priests were banished from the precincts of His temple and the golden avenues of Iacon. Trion had spoken no more words of prophecy in all the years since, but the Hegemon had cared not, satisfied merely that Trion be present and mouth the appropriate platitudes that were a rulers due. Trion for his part had kept his own counsel and waited, knowing that his time was not yet due.
“Do you know me?” Trion asked of Orion, “You who pass under the name of Pax, do you know me for who I am?”
“I fear that I do not know you. Though your appearance seems familiar to me,” Orion replied, “perhaps in my travels I have met others of your form-line?”
“You do not know me,” Trion replied, “and yet I know you. Orion, heir to the Prime, rightful ruler of Iacon and awaited freer of your people.”
“How is this known to you?” Orion exclaimed in surprise and shock, “I have guarded my identity carefully lest enemies learn of who I am and strike me down!”
“Fear not Orion. Your secret is as safe with me as the truth of your identity is clear. For no mere dissembling of the physical realm can hide from my senses the truth.” With that Trion allowed the veil he had drawn across others eyes to fade, the tamed light which maintained his aged shape to blow away like the breeze, and stood revealed in his true shape. Gone was the aged and weather-beaten 'bot which had stood before Orion. Instead what stood before him was an angular form of burnished metal which stood brazen in the light, every sharply graven edge and flat-beaten surface intricate with designs which echoed the First Cog itself. “Now, do you know who I am?”
“It can be no other,” Orion declared, throwing himself to the ground in reverence, “Herald of the Light Gods, courier of their truths, speaker of Primus Words themselves. You are Vector!”
“I am,” Vector declared gravely, “but rise Orion, who is not yet truly named. There is much you must be told and they are not words to be spoken here.” Vector drew his sword, the ancient shining blade of which it is said that its edge is so sharp that it could cut between one second and the next, the saber that could sever the very rays of light from a star. He passed the sword through the air and parted a gateway out of the world.
Vector guided Orion through the strange world on the other side of the portal, and Orion witnessed many things that were strange and troubling. Vector warned him that the Void would offer up many sights, and many creatures which would be at once strange but errily familiar but not all of the things that Orion would see were real but all were in some way true.

“Is this one of those travelogue bits like the Human's put in stories. With all sorts of instructive visions and things?”
“Um, well. It kind of is in the original, but it actually doesn't make much sense in the original language. In fact Henshall and Dyson think that it might fragments of a pre-Cyberforming species mythology which became adopted over the generations without any cultural references. But it doesn't really “read” properly. Like Earth's proto-Babylonian myths, neither of them 'translate' into English very well.”
“Or Feminaxian apparently.”
“What?”
“You slipped into Feminaxian a while back, via Javanese and something my translation software says is Meltrandi.”
“Oh, sorry. I was wrapped up in telling the story and...”
“It is fine, don't worry about it. It adds to the effect somehow.”
“Anyway, I'll skip the wanderings about outside time and space and just move things along shall I?”

Vector brought Orion to the enormous platinum palace which stood upon the third and most mysterious of moons. The palace in which the Light Gods dwelt and looked down upon Cybertron and all its inhabitants. Vector led him to a courtyard collanaded by mighty platinum pillars each as long around as the mightiest of the Manganese Mountains, whose heart was a pool as shining and pure as the great Mercury Sea itself. In that courtyard, deep in a conversation whose words were as far above or below his audio receptors as a Retro-bats sonar was a Cybertronians, were two figures who Orion did not fail to recognise. Vector bade Orion stand at the edge of the mighty pool, and then raised himself up to his full height, commensurate with those of his peers who stood there.
“Primus, Lord of Light Gods and champion of us all. Davitoris, judge and assessor. I am returned from Cybertron with the heir of the Primes,” Vector declared.
“Oh. Let us see him. Stand forth then,” the warm mirth in Primus voice belied his shining warrior mein, and someone was not what Orion would have expected. There was a... twinkle... in his voice as he turned to the grim-faced figure who stood beside him,
“So, this is the 'bot you say will be the Greatest Prime of them all,”
“If he returns from the quest he has set himself then it may be so,” rasped the dark-faced form who stood next to Primus.
“Well then,” Primus bent forward to examine Orion, who stood dwarfed by the size and majesyu of the Lord of the Light Gods, “what do you have to say for yourself?”

Next Week: A stout ship, and let the Games begin.

[Andy Turnbull]

Another splendid instalment Karl.

I know real life has gotten in the way, but I hope we'll see part 3 soon.

Andy

[legios]

Indeed, I have rather let real-life blow this off course the last couple of weeks. Need to try to get it back on course, I was quite enjoying having a chance to write in that cod-mythical style.

I hope to get back onto a schedule with this by next week all being well.

Karl

[legios]

Orion looked at the towering forms of Primus, Lord of the Light Gods, and Davitoris, Celestial Judge. Other 'bots would have been cowed by standing in the presence of their titanic divinity. But Orion was made of sterner stuff, his core tempered by the wisdom he had learnt from the chroniclers and scholars of Boltax, and he spoke unto his creator unafraid,
“Primus, long have your people asked why you have turned your back upon them. They labour under the yoke of the Hegemon for they are a peaceful people, unaccustomed to rising in anger even against an unjust lord. But the Hegemon rules unrightfully and not well and he turns the labours of the people to building fortresses and walls that they might keep out their neighbour both upon Cybertron and beyond.”
“And yet I have decreed that the Hegemon shall continue to rule, if it pleased me to do so could I not smite him down with my power and cause his throne to be upset,” Primus observed, “and the Hegemon turns his peoples hand not only to walls but also to the solar farms and he has them bracelet the seas with braids of turbines that energy might be made more free to all than it has before.”
“But he does these things not for the people, for whom he cares not, but for himself that his own name might be made greater,” Orion responded angrily, “he cares not for the people who labour him, and that they should have comfort and hope of a better tomorrow. He promises them only unending labour to build a perfect future which can never be reached. I would bring them back hope, throw open the doors of your temple to all of the people and unite them not by force but by wise words and great works. I would throw down the Hegemon and prove that he is a false ruler.”
Davitoris turned his terrible visage, the elongated head with its grim features whose gaze will penetrate all the secrets of each being when they seek entrance to the lives beyond this one, to Orion and demanded in tones both deep and echoing,
“And how is it that you would bring them this hope?” Orion stood firm in the face of this inquisition, his faith in the people of Cybertron and in his hopes for their future giving him strength,
“I would journey across the great dark ocean of space, and all its perils, to the fabled city of the Quintessons and bring back to them the Great Matrix itself, well-spring of the Matrix Flame, and the vessel of Primus' grace.hindrance may know that our Creator has not turned his face from them!”
“I suppose you are expecting me to intervene in some way to aid you in this great voyage?” Primus asked, “Provide you with a stout ship, protect you from the perils of the dark or fill its hold with the fuel of the Gods?” Primus asked.
“Ordinary fuel will suffice to sate our hunger, and that we will find aplenty on our journey. A ship I will commission from the finest shipwright I can find, and I have faith that his skills will make it the equal of the journey. And as for the perils of the dark, I shall recruit a mighty crew – heroes all – and trust in the strength, skill, wisdom and courage to shield us,” Orion stood firm beneath the gaze of three of three of the Thirteen Light Gods and held his ground. “I ask from you simply one thing, that you stay you hand and to not intervene to cast more perils before our undertaking.”
Primus looked at Orion for a long moment, as if pondering what he had said. Then a thin, rasping sound as if of misaligned cogs grinding emanated from Davitorus' vo-coder.
“This one bears watching my lord,” he rumbled, “he has rare spirit and determination.”
“That he does,” Primus laughed, “very few have stood before me and demanded that the gift I bestow upon them is nothing. Very well Orion, you have spoken well so I shall raise no obstacle to your quest or cast in your path no hinderance than that which fate himself or the nature of the dark void itself may raise against you,” he raised an orange-golden hand in warning, “but in the same manner I will raise no hand to assist you. Call on me and it will be in vain. If you will triumph it will be by the strength of your own hydraulics and the quickness of the electrons that flow in your own circuits.”
“That is as it should be. If we are successful by our own hands then we will be worthy of bringing the Matrix back to our people,” Orion replied,
“Return this one to Cybertron Vector, we shall watch his progress with great interest.” Primus ordered.
“As you wish my lord,” Vector's sword cut through the warp and weft of the universe and he and Orion began their timeless journey home.

“I take it we're going to cut the travelogue on the way back as well?” Ratchet asked. He leant back on the wall, not because he actually needed to rest this bodies hydraulics – they were after all a lot newer than his old ones – but because it was a habit that he had picked up from several organic species during his travels, “This version of Primus is quite...”
“Chatty?” something impish danced in the depths of Ishtar's voice
“He certainly seems to have more to say than the old Circuit Sects would have you believe.”
“That depends. After all, there is an alternate translation of the Primal Pentatuech where he is pretty much the exposition fairy,” Ishtar observed, “of course, that version is a little bit outside the mainstream.”
“Isn't that the 12th cycle Hex-agraphic version? That's considered a bit heretical by the true believers I think, what with its adherence to the creed of twelve Primes, and their brother the deceiver who was cast out and his dark angel who will bring destruction cloaked as rebirth on the edges of his great sword?”
“Yes, actually,” Ishtar's amusement was mingled with surprise, “I know, but I know everything in every database on this planet, but I'm surprised you know. You never struck me as heavily vested in the Primal faith.”
“I'm not really that much of a believer, but back on Iretius Nine, Heavytread entered one of the Circuit Sect monasteries, and even when he came out of the cloisters again to fight in the Zuck-amian war he kept going on at great length about some of the fringe beliefs.”
“Really, none of that is in the bio the Directorate have on him.”
“It wouldn't be. He went missing after the Triangulum Massacre. As far as I know he's dead.”
“Oh. Sorry,”
“It's ok, it was... a while ago now,” Ratchet replied, slightly abstractedly, “but we're getting off the point.”
“Back to Orion and his Arkanaughts?”
“Back to the Arkanaughts.” Ratchet agreed.


Vector returned Orion to the camp of the Hegemon mere moments after they had left. Orion was amazed at this as the journey had been long and full of strange wonders. Vector told him that Time for him was as Space was to Orion, a great sea on which those who knew the way of it could voyage. Orion was full of awe and wonder, and the drive to begin at once on the great task which he had set himself on. Vector cautioned him to patience and to wait, that time might provide what he required.

So it was that Orion came to journey to Iacon in company with the Hegemon. The Hegemon was at great pains to show his travelling companion the many great works which had been embarked upon. But Orion saw only the empty labours of a people who labour only for the aggrandisement of a leader who gives no though to their wishes or to the common good, but seeks only to impose his will on the people regardless of their own. They came at last to the great palace which had been erect within the golden dome of Iacon itself. It was a mighty structure, its great gates yawning open like the tunnel of the Games Arena before the athletes, and its towers reaching towards the roof above and casting their shadow onto the shuttered temple of Primus. The Hegemon sent word to the greatest of his shipwrights, commanding him to at once draw up plans for a mighty ship which could brave the perilous crossing to Quintessa. The Hegemon asked of Orion,
“Where will you find a crew to journey with you on such a voyage. All of my sailors and spacehands are at your disposal, but few will be willing to brave the strange dangers which exist out there in space.”
“Few indeed,” Orion agreed, “for this is a voyage which requires the strength and courage of heroes.But I believe that we of Cybertron are a world of heroes, with courage and honour the very motor of our pumps and gears. I propose to send the news far and wide that a Games shall be held, for all the greatest of Cybertron to contend for the honour of joining this crew in their perilous voyage. No true hero would refuse such a call, and from them I will chose the wisest, the swiftest and the strongest. And with such a crew of the finest steel of all Cybertron I am sure we shall prevail!”

The Hegemon gave his assent and so the word was sent far and wide, and the mightiest, cleverest and swiftest came to Iacon to content in a great Games. So a crew was chosen, Swift Blurr who none could match for fleetness whether on foot or wheel, Hound of whom it was said that he could follow a trail of a single atom across the great Ore Desert without fail. These and other mighty names where elevated amongst the contenders and chosen to become part of the company.

“You're eliding again aren't you?”
“It goes on a bit in the original, and the roll-call isn't that important.”
“I've got time.”
“Actually, you've got a fairly full schedule. Planetary AI, I remember these things,” Ishtar teased.
“Just go on a sub-channel on the radio net. I'm a robot, I can multitask”
“No, you can't. I'm having twenty-seven conversations at this precise moment, and a data-stream exchange with a passing Nilberu hive-ship and composing an FTL burst-gram for the Potentae of Drahva IV regarding ongoing treaty negotiation. Trust me on this, you Autobots are terrible at multi-tasking,” She laughed lightly, “besides, you know how much it worries Doctor LaGuardia when you are chatting during nano-surgery. Besides, I'll leave in the really good bits.”

And so it came to the final contest, the test of marksmanship. Targets were hurled into the air above the great arena of Iacon, and Cybertonians each in turn demonstrated their skill and accuracy in bringing the targets down. Finally only two remained. One was the wandering warrior Bluestreak, who spoke with cheer to all, but none could claim to know from whence he came – but whose skills were such that all stood in awe of them. All that was except the other Cybertronian who remained. His name was Prowl, and although he had advanced to stand alone against Bluestreak none could say how. For he showed none of the artistry and prowess that Bluestreak demonstrated with every shot, but somehow each time Prowl would hit each and every target.
“Ho! You are a challenge,” Bluestreak declared, “and never let it be said that Bluestreak was one to refuse a challenge.” The other nodded in acknowledgement but said nothing, merely made a minor adjustment to his weapon. “Throw up a target, to the very edge of where the optic can see it,” Bluestreak called out, “and I will strike it in the very centre.”
The Marshal of the contest did so, and Bluestreak took aim. His aim was as true as his word, and the target was struck right to its heart. Bluestreak turned to Prowl,
“My apologies, but I do not see how such a shot can be bettered.”
“Project five targets, and I shall shatter them all with a single shot,” Prowl replied.
“A single shot, to strike five times?” Bluestreak gave voice to his disbelief, “It is not ambition that you lack for.”
“Five targets,” Prowl indicated again to the Marshal. At the Marshal's signal the Hegemon's guards launched five targets into the space above the arena. Prowl leveled his weapon, and drew aim. Then he let fly with a single shot. The shot leapt out and struck one of the targets full-on, sundering it into four parts. These parts spun outwards on new paths and each struck another target, bursting them apart in turn. Prowl turned towards where Orion stood watching the contests and simply waited.
“I have no words for such a feat,” Bluestreak declared, “what I saw as impossible for the hand and the optic you have achieved through cunning and skill. Truly remarkable. But I feel that perhaps I am still the victor, for although they are shattered beyond doubt it was the parts of the target that you struck which destroyed the others and not your single shot itself. ”
“One shot I said I would use to shatter them. One shot was fired and they lie shattered,” Prowl replied
“Friends, do not quarrel,” Orion declared, stepping down to greet them both,” your sharp optic and sure aim Bluestreak will serve us well, and your battle-wise mind proves your worth Prowl. Both of you have a place amongst our ranks. Come, join your fellows who have already won places among our company. I must go now to the shipwright who labours to build the mighty vessel which will carry us across the black sea. But before Orion could take his leave he was stopped in his tracks by a commotion at the gates of the arena and by a booming voice which cried out in challenge.

Next Week: An unexpected arrival, and a voyage begun.

[Andy Turnbull]

Hurrah,

Most enjoyable Kaptain!

Andy

[legios]

Glad you are enjoying it. Hopefully I'll be able to get it back on some sort of regular schedule.

Karl

[Fortmax2020]

Great stuff, Kaptain. I've enjoyed catching up on this over the last few days.

[legios]

A great presence, strong in limb with arms and legs so strongly built that they seemed to be as thick around as road pillars, jostled his way past the Hegemon's guards at the entrance to the Arena. His deep voice boomed out,
“So, who me have to beat to go on space ship!”
“Grimlock!” Orion declared, “Your strength is legendary and your exploits are sung off across the world. You need not prove yourself to me.”
“See Grimlock, I told you he would have heard of us,” the smaller, more spindly Cybertronian walking in Grimlock's wake observed.
“Me not remember you saying that,” Grimlock replied, “but me guess you were right anyway.”
“We'll you did have your hands full with a mechano-boreworm at the time...”
“Welcome also to you, friend of Grimlock,” Orion greeted the other newcomer, “I know not your name, but if Grimlock calls you friend then you too must share his courage and strength.”
“I am Swoop,” the other replied, “and you would be the Pax who has put out this call to adventure.”
“I am he, thought I regret that I do not recognise your name.”
“He is Swoop, the laughing Dive-bomber of Alti-hex,” Starscream, who had been standing nearby, explained, “they say that he has some repute as an aerialist.”
“It is said that I am the finest flyer in all of the Southern city-states,” Swoop said, adding swiftly, “by those who talk at the refueling stations and in the market places.”
“Swoop is good at flying,” Grimlock confirmed, “Me see him out-fly ten bandit fliers at once before!”
“Really?' Starscream cast an appraising look at Swoop, “it would be interesting to see just how good he is.”
“And he will no doubt get the chance to show us his skills on our journey Starscream,” Orion turned to Swoop and Grimlock, “we are glad to have such Cybertronians as you amongst our company.”

Orion went from the arena to the great docks of Iacon, where a mighty scaffold which had been reached towards the stars. Within its embrace the greatest of the Hegemon's architects oversaw the workers as they laboured to bring to life a ship such as none had ever seen before. The great oblong shape, the great engines gaping like mouths in the flat shape of its stern and its the machined planes of transium meeting at sharp angles as they reached towards the blunt prow of the mighty vessel. As the suns began to set the vessel was bathed in their light, its mirror-bright hull seeming to shine with an inner orange light. The architect saw Orion drinking in the sight of his work and broke for a moment from his labours.
“The ship is nearly complete,” he told Orion, “and such a ship as has never been seen.”
“It is a sight to gladden the Optics,” Orion replied, “I have never seen such artistry and craftsmanship.”
“This will be my masterpiece I feel,” the architect admitted, “many great and wonderful things have I built and many are the wonders that will live on beyond my years. But this ship, I feel a sense of purpose in every line, and a every plate, as if it was something that willed itself to into becoming. This ship is greater than her maker by far and I am glad to have played a part in bringing her into being.”
“It is a truly great and mighty vessel,” Orion agreed, “a ship for heroes.
“If any vessel can carry you across the dark to Quintessa in safety, then this is the ship to do it.”
“Has it a name?” Orion asked, “a great vessel should have a great name.”
“I had thought to name it 'Ark',” the architect replied.
“A fine name, the name of the vessel which carried Prima into the sky to do battle with the dragon which threatened to swallow the world,” Orion greeted the suggestion with evident pleasure, “yes, Ark it shall be. And I must know your name, for although it were the Hegemon who selected you for this great labour you have my thanks too and I would know your name that I can thank you properly.”
“You do me too much honour, but I am know to all as Grap.”
“Then Grap, you have my great thanks and I am forever in your debt. May the product of your labour protect us on our voyage to come, and the grace of Primus and the Thirteen Gods be with you.”

Ratchet laughed, “he'd have appreciated that. But would have been insuffereable with it.”
“Who?”
“Grapple,” Ratchet replied, “he was bad enough when all he could claim credit for was architecture, if he heard a people somewhere were holding him up as some sort of oustanding ship-builder as well I would have been treating him for distension of the brain module. How did they get to giving Grapple credit for the Ark design anyway – I've heard plenty of odd theories trying to give credit to a single 'bot, but don't recall Grapple being a major part of any of them.”
“Thrussel and La'Cryondotia suggested it is a mis-translation. The Novaxian culture is partly Humanian Exodite in origin, and the Exodites spent generations living in mobile space habitats. Toi them architecture and ship-building are the same thing. So in their minds, if some scrap of remembered lore says Grapple was an architect then by definition he must have built ships. Of course, some of the Linguio-archeologist community suggest that they actually do have a distinct word for architect, it just doesn't refer to the building of anything intended to be lived in...” Ishtar paused, “there are just one or two academics in Consensus at the moment as well I think.”
“You did seem to have gone into Foot-note mode for a moment there,” Ratchet agreed tolerantly, “but you never know when the unlikeliest piece of information will be useful. Even something as odd as the wavelength of infrared absorbtion of protein cylinders has come in handy before.”
“I'm not sure I even want to know what that means,” Ishtar replied slightly imperiously, “it sounds slightly suspect. So, where were we...”

The night before the voyage the Hegemon called Starscream to attend him in his chambers once Orion had taken his leave to make his final preparation. Starscream came to the Hegemon with alacrity and bowed deeply in homage to him.
“You have done as I commanded?” The Hegemon demanded.
“Yes my lord Hegemon,” Starscream was quick to confirm, “I have presented myself to Pax and begged his leave to accompany him and his company on their quest.”
“And what said he?”
“He accepted hearily and with great speed Hegemon,” Starscream smiled a cunning smile which was absent of mirth and warmth. “This Pax lacks guile and believes but the best of every Cybertronian until they disappoint him. Meeting them all with truth he believes that their words are truth. The wise know that few speak the truth all the time.”
“Indeed, but this Pax has the strength of the righteous. It would not do to underestimate him,” The Hegemon cautioned, “know you what you must do next?”
“I wait until the time is right and proper, and then I strike to ensure that Pax does not succeed in his quest and return with the Matrix. My blade will remain ready at hand and when the moment comes I will ensure that the perils of the journey claim the brave hero.”
“He will be mourned, and his sacrifice celebrated and then he will take his rightful place as but a paragraph in the legend of my glorious reign. Fail me not Starscream, for if you succeed then lands and wealth shall be yours but do not return unsuccessful and with your blade unblooded with Pax' oil for I will not permit you to darken my realm with the taint of failure.”
“ I shall not fail you, lord. And Pax shall not survive the voyage.”



The sun rose on the launching fields of Iacon. The Ark, completed and ready for her voyage into the unknown depths of space glistened in the sunlight. Her silver skin was sharp and clean in the morning light and she was a mighty sight to the gathered heroes. Storied names there were that gathered there. Mighty Grimlock and swift swoop, indomitable Sideswipe and his famed brother Sunstreaker, wise Prowl and skilful Jazz, learned Chromedome and many other names where there that were heroes in their own right. In their midst, Starscream kept his own counsel and his own mind as to their quest.

Orion stood before the assembled multitude, the mighty ship at his back. He looked over those who had won through to prove their worth and take a place amongst this crew, and he felt a measure of pride to see that Cybertron could produce such a band.
“My friends,” Orion spoke to the assembled throng, “you have all proven yourselves to be the swiftest, bravest, wisest and strongest that Cybertron has to offer. I thank you for lending your skills and your bravery to our quest. For this journey will require all that the greatest of Cybertron can bring to bear upon it if we are to be successful. This vessel, this Ark, has been well-crafted and well named. For just as Prima took ship upon the first Ark when the world-swallowing serpent rose up and threatened to consume our very planet within its jaws. Whilst the common people of Cybertron did quake in fear and terror Prima rose up and with his sword, the cleaver of atoms, rode upon the Ark and did cut open the very serpent's belly, spilling out all the stars which it had swallowed to remake the firmament. His courage was unmeasurable and his skill was the equal of the task which was set before him,” Orion paused. “And so it will be with us. I have no doubts but that we will succeed in our quest. We will cross the dark ocean, best its perils, and return bearing the Matrix back with us that all of Cybertron can see that Primus has not forsaken us. I have no doubt that this is so, for do we not ride in the Ark just as Prima did and are we not a ship full-stocked with Primas, each with all his courage and skill. Just as Prima's, this voyage will make us unto legends. Go then, board the Ark and let us journey beyond space and into our place in history.”
And a great cheer went up amongst the throng. They hurried aboard the Ark, anxious to take their places as the great ship began its journey to the stars.

Next Week: Into the ocean of the night.

[legios]

The suns of Cybertron were soon left far behind the Ark as it set its course out into the great black ocean of space. The ship, which had seemed so mighty on its landing field outside Iacon was soon dwarfed by the vastness in which it found itself. On and on it plunged into the reaches of space, following in the footsteps of the voyages of the Cybertronian heroes of the age of exploration – charting a course by the same stars by which Countdown had plotted his voyage. The ship voyaged for many weeks, passing through star systems whose planets would have presented wonders, had Orion and his crew optics for anything other than their mission. Worlds with frozen seas of methane, of orbs covered with eternal clouds which forever cloaked their surface from view. A star surrounded by a constantly orbiting shell of constructions created by a long-vanished race who reshaped an entire solar system and yet vanished with no other trace. These and many other wonders the Ark passed by without pause on its quest. A day came when the Ark left behind the stars by which it had travelled and entered into one of the great voids which our galaxy contained within it. A starless emptiness even more profound than that of the space which the Cybertronian crew had been traversing lay before them. At the sight of this emptiness some of the crew suggested that it would be better to skirt around its edges, following the stars on its fringes as the vessels of the Mercury Seas followed the beacons from one coastal port to another.
“Though the void stretches before us, treacherous and uncharted, still the stars which burn at its edges are similarly unknown to us and may hold dangers of their own. So to, to go around this great emptiness would take us many weeks and months out of our way – adding to the length of our journey,” Orion declared, “were this voyage one of exploration or trade, or even of seeking adventure for its own sake then perhaps such a detour could be counternanced. But our journey has a goal, and we should hasten to Quintessa as quickly as this ship can carry us. No, we must go on through the trackless ocean which lays before us.” And so the Ark left behind the warmth and light of the stars which huddled together on the edge of the great void, and set out into the darkness.

Time passed, and the Ark travelled on into the blackness. The crew settled into a steady routine, unbroken by anything to see without the ship but the darkness, and the days became the one the same as the other. Until the day when one of the crew came to Orion with a matter of gravest concern.
“Pax,” for that was still the name by which the crew knew Orion, “I must speak with you regarding our fuel.”
“What is it, Pipes?” Orion replied, “for surely we have victualed the Ark with many, many gallons of fuel for our journey across the stars?
“Indeed, we have much fuel which was meant to sustain us,” Pipes agreed, “but I fear that we may still be endangered. You should come with me to the storage holds.”

Pipes and Orion went to the storage holds. They stood before the great tanks which held the fuel which was meant to sustain them in their voyage. Pipes indicated the tanks,
“I was checking the fuel, as I do each day, to ensure that it remains good and wholesome for our use. When we provisioned the ship we did so with the finest, purest fuel which could be had, and so it has remained throughout our voyage so far.”
“But now something has happened?”
“Something has been added to the fuel. Some foul substance which has mingled with the fuel and turned it to a corrosive poison which would surely harm any who were to imbide it.”
“An unhappy accident, some strange effect of an unknown influence out in space?”
“Perhaps,” Pipes was grave, “or perhaps the action of some miscreant in our midst. But the how of it is not my greatest concern.”
“How much of the fuel is atainted?” Orion realised at once what he meant,
“All of the main tanks are affected,” Pipes replied at once, “only a small reserve tank remains.
“Enough to carry us across the void and to a star on the other side where we might be able to find a source of clean fuel to replenish our supply?”
“Perhaps, but there is no certainty.”

Orion called together his crew and spoke to them of the fate which had befallen their fuel. He told them only that the fuel had spoiled and was now toxic to any who consumed it. He chose not to burden them with the knowledge that this might have been done by a faithless one amongst them, keeping his own counsel regarding that possibility. He spoke to the crew of the Ark thusly,
“We have but little fuel available to us, and we know not whether it will be enough for us to travel across the void and to sustain us until we can reach a safe harbour on the other side. I believe that we should go forwards, put our trust in our courage and the rightness of our mission and trust that we will reach a place of safety where we may replenish our supplies in time. Truly, also, we have travelled far into the void and I fear that a voyage back whence we have come would pose as great a risk to us as going onwards and if I must expire then I would chose to do so striving forwards towards my goal than in retreat from it. I ask you, are you then still willing to follow me – at the hazard of your function – across this void, in faith that this ship will carry us safely to the other side? Or would you have us turn back towards home, our hands empty and our quest unfulfilled?”
The assembled Cybertronian's looked one from another, as if neither wished to be the first to speak. But then Prowl spoke from the assembled throng,
“We are at the heart of this void, as you yourself say. To go back is as far as it is to go on, and as perilous. If our fuel does not hold out then it will mean the end of us whichever way we go. But to turn back is to risk our expiry to gain nothing that progresses our quest. To go on hazards us, but if we succeed then we are nearer to our goal. I speak but for myself, but I am with you. We should go on.” At Prowl's words it was as if all the others found their voices, calling out that they too would go on into the void in the hopes of finding a hospitable shore on the other side.

The Ark plunged on across the void. Days passed and the crew watched as their precious supply of fuel dwindled. The Cybertronians hsubanded their energy carefully, moving around the ship only to perform essential duties but otherwise remaining still, and growing every more listless as their rations of fuel were reduced in hope of stretching their supplies a little further. The Ark continued to bear its crew faithfully and doggedly across the empty space, aimed for a cluster of stars on the edge of the void where they might find precious life-giving fuel.

Whilst the vessel continued its plunge across the void, one of the crew approached Orion and asked to speak privately with him. Orion acceded to his request and Alert, who at this time had not yet become the Magistrate of Diahex...

“Diahex, now they just seem to be using a random name generator,” Ratchet observed, “I mean, that doesn't even sound like something that a Cybertronian city would be called.”
“True, as far as I can tell there never was a Diahex on Cybertron. But considering the names given to some of the cities on Cyberformed worlds by the post-Imperial cultures...I mean, some of your indirect descendants thought Cybertropolis sounded like a sensible name..”
“And considering we are sitting on a planet called Cynthia...”
“Linguistic and cultural drift, it does surprising things sometimes. But anyway, don't worry too much about Diahex. It crops up in several different post-disaporatic cultures and it always seems to be shorthand for 'somewhere a long way away'. The wandering combat masters in the stories from the Neo-Cybertronian cultures around the T'Konian Rift are always said to come from Diahex, or to have trained under a master from there. It is basically just shorthand for 'someone from the other side of the world'.”

...Alert shared with Orion his concern that one of their own number might have tampered with the fuel supply, and that amongst the gathering of heroes they might have nestled a Rust Adder to their fuel-pumps. Orion regarded Alert thoughfully, considering his words carefully. Then he confessed that he too had already had this thought, but that he hesitated to give it voice without proof of wrong doing, for he would not impute the courage and honour of any of these heroes by accusing them without proof positive. Alert understood Orion's motives, and respected the nobility of his position but he nevertheless felt he had to give voice to his concerns. He told Orion that their voyage was a perilous one enough from the unknown threats of space, and that to add a possible threat from a traitor within their ranks would add immesurably to their danger. Orion agreed that Alert's caution was wise and proper, but felt that it was not the time to be putting any possible traitor on their guard. He proposed instead that Alert should be watchful, and if his optics spied anything else which might confirm whether one amongst them was not loyal to the quest then he should speak out to Orion then. Alert agreed that this would be a wise precaution and swore that he would remain ever-vigilant as he moved amongst the company.

The Ark continued to cross over the great dark sea of the rift, and the remaining supplies of fuel continued to dwindle. But the stars of the far shore of the rift came nearer and nearer, and even as the enervated crew braved their short rations they were heartened by knowing that they might be nearing a source of fresh supply. So it came to be that Prowl came to Orion and told him that they were nearing a small clustering of stars, and that around three of them circled planets on which they might find fuel to sustain them. Orion and Prowl both knew that their supplies were now all but exhausted, and that if the system they chose could not succour them they would not survive to reach another world. Prowl asked which of the worlds Orion wished them to set their course for. Knowing that from afar there was no way of knowing which of these islands in the sea of space would be hospitable to them Orion did not hesitate in making his decision.
“Fate has conspired to point our vessel at this star,” he indicated the star which lay almost straight ahead of the Ark's broad, blunt bow, “and I will put my faith that this has not been for want of reason. This is where our ship carries us, so this is where we shall go.”
Prowl took this message to the steersman, who set the Ark on a course to approach that star. As the ship drew ever closer they saw that it was circled by a rocky world, and their spirits rose as they considered that this might hold the elements necessary for life. The great ship moved into orbit around the world and the whole company waited anxiously as Pipes evaluated the world with a practiced eye and a knowledgable mind. All of them knew that if this world proved to have none of the precious hydrocarbon stuff of life then it would mean their end, for they had not the fuel to survive the voyage to another star.
Finally Pipes turned to them and declared,
“There are pools on this planet's surface, fed from deep inside which well-up in springs of pure, life-giving, hydrocarbons. We will find what we seek here. A cheer went up from all of the company, and they turned their hands to preparing to descend to the surface of the world and replenish their emptied stores. Little did they know of what awaited them on the island, and how it would spell the end of the quest for some of their number.


Next Week: Island of Peril.

[Grand Moff Muffin]

Just caught up on this - apologies for the neglect! Really enjoying it now that it's got into its stride. I can't help but wonder if Ratchet has Apollonius of Rhodes anywhere in his Earth databanks and might notice the parallels with Greek mythology some point down the line...

Martin

[legios]

That is an interesting thought isn't it? Exactly what does Ratchet have in his database, and for that matter how certain are we that it has been properly reintegrated after his brush with Corroda Gravis... Perhaps there is a reason that Ishtar has chosen this particular story to tell Ratchet at this juncture? (Other than that she just seems to like talking to the old Autobot of course...)

Karl

[legios]

At Orion's command the mighty Ark descended to the surface of the unknown world. As it swooped down towards the surface all of the Cybertronians who could, despite their state of enervation, crowded around the great ships viewports to catch their first glimpse of an unknown world. Though they followed in the footsteps of Prima it had been many decades since Cybertronian's had voyaged out across the great dark ocean and brought home tales of what lay on the worlds across the sea, for at that time whilst Countdown's name had become known on many worlds through his great adventures he had yet to return from his voyages and so his tale was not yet told on the world of his origin.

And so the Cybertronians crowded around the viewports, their optics hungrily drinking in the wonders that they beheld. The world spread out before them was a strange sight. There were no gleaming cities, and no shining silver-grey plains. And the surface was covered by a strange substance - liquid like a sea, but lacking the mirror-bright shine of a true mercury sea. Instead its constantly shifting surface had an alien blue-green hue and its movements were strange, speaking of a different density and strange currents that none had ever seen before. But most strange was the sheer quantity of the liquid. None had ever seen seas so vast, so huge that even the greatest of Cybertron's Mercury Seas seemed as if they were mere ornamental lakes by comparison. Thoughtful Skids told them that he thought that the seas might even cover more than half the planet. The others declared that surely that must be impossible. Seas were small things, surely never vast enough to fill half a world, but as the Ark circled the globe they realised that he might be right, for the planet seemed filled with the strange seas. Islands stood here and there, isolated from each other by the great bodies of liquid, but they were small things – the largest island itself was no more than a few thousand kilometres across – against the immensity of the sea. And such strange islands they were, where they should have shone warm and silvered in the light from the planets sun their colours were instead dulled. Browns and greens predominated, colours which none aboard the Ark could say did anything other than remind them of how far they were from home.

Whilst some of the crew stared in wonder and amazement at the world swelling beneath the Ark, Orion stood firm upon the bridge. Under his orders the great ship was guided down towards a particular island in the blue-green sea. As they neared it Pipes regarded it with appraising optics.
“There,” he indicated, “where bubble and steam those great pools of what looks to the optic like the congealed oil of a damaged muscle?”
“I see where you speak of,” Orion assured him.
“There in that liquid we will find the fuel we seek,” Pipes declared, “we will need to gather it and purify it to make it fit for us to consume, but it will sustain us and perhaps we will find enough that we may continue our journey.”
“Then that is where we shall make our landfall,” Orion declared. Under his sure guidance the Ark descended towards the island, and the great dull-coloured plain at its heart.

As the ship descended the Cybertronians watched the details of the island become clearer as they approach. They noticed the tall objects which ringed the central plain and argued what they were. Some said that they must be mountains, for even though they towered like the spires of a city they were made of the same strange brown and green substance as the islands themselves. But others observed that some of the cities of Cybertron were of the same colour and materials as the surface layers of the world itself, not all cities were as ostentatious as the golden spires of Iacon or the platinum domes of Altihex. The debate continued even as the Ark lowered itself towards the surface of the world.
“Me think easiest way to settle argument is to go and look,” Grimlock observed.
“My wings could do with the feeling of some atmosphere beneath them,” Swoop agreed, “once we have some fuel within us to bring back our strength perhaps we should go and see with our own optics.”

The Ark made landfall safely on the great plain, and the crew made haste to prepare what they needed to purify the fuel within the great black pools. Great hoses were run from the Ark to the pools and mighty pumps began to operate to pull the fuel within the ship, where it flowed through the filters and purifiers set in place by Pipes. The impurities were extracted from the fuel for disposal, and the pure and clean fuel flowed into the storage tanks within the great ship. The enervated Cybertronians gathered around as Pipes tested the first of the new fuel. In a short time he declared that it was good and wholesome and the Cybertronians drank their fill, their spirits rising as they savoured the sharp taste of the fuel and felt strength to return to them. They all acknowledged Orion's wisdom in suggesting that they voyage onward, for it was this which had led them to this world and to the precious life-giving fuel.

The voyagers knew that it would take time to refine sufficient fuel to refill the vast fuel tanks of the Ark. They had been confined within the passages of the Ark since they had left Cybertron behind them. Now that they had fuel in their own tanks some of the company expressed a wish to explore this strange new ground that they found beneath their feet. Although it was a strange world, with a surface that seemed to be composed of the powdered remains of the great rocks which sometimes fell from space onto the surface of their homeworld, and with strange fragile structures covering it which seemed to be comprised of long-chain carbon-molecules, rather than the bi-stable metallics of the Ribbon Forests of Calixar, or the crystaline columns of Norkaria, they felt excited to have solid ground beneath their feet once more and wished to savour it.
“We must proceed with great caution,” Orion advised them, “not one of us has trodden a world like this before and we do not count amongst our number wise Countdown, with his great knowledge of the many worlds which dot the dark ocean of space. Explore if you must, but take care not to disturb any inhabitants of this world lest they be raised to rightful anger at our intrusion and raise their arms against us.”

“That's not the first time you've mentioned a 'Countdown', and the story seems to be assuming that I know who that is,” Ratchet observed.
“You don't know the name?”
“Should I?”
“Hmmmm,” Ishtar pondered for a moment, “Well, let me say this much, he is probably the most widely known individual Cybertronian other than, possibly, Black Convoy or the Liege Maximo. There are thousands of worlds where Countdown has found himself incorporated into planetary history or mythology. In fact, there are a cluster of worlds out in the Perseus Arm which swear blind that he is responsible for helping them to transplant their population from their original homeworld to the five systems they currently call home.”
“Still not really ringing any bells,” Ratchet admitted.
“The liberation of Vehaxis from the Renegade Hordes? The downfall of the titan Puzzler Fiend? Bringing back the antidote to the Crimson Death. The adventures on Metagla?”
“No, sorry,” Ratchet paused, “should I be concerned that I don't recognise the name?” Ishtar didn't answer for a moment,
“Well, you did have a war to concern yourself with for a few thousand years, and then there was that whole Diaclone Men business... You might just not have had time to catch up on pop history. Especially given the way you tend to overwork. Short version, Countdown was a Cybertronian, went out from Cybertron well before the start of the War, got into some scrapes and got quite a reputation. Hence him starting to show up in the mythology of some of the cultures that developed over later millenia.”
“Ah. I see...” Ratchet tailed off thoughtfully as Ishtar returned to the business at hand,

Small parties of Cybertronian's began to set out to explore the island whilst Pipes and some of the company continued loading fuel into the great tanks of the Ark. Amongst them Grimlock and Swoop, inseperable as always, set off to walk towards the great towers which surrounded the plain on which the Ark had landed. They walked for some considerable time, until Swoop suggested that he would fly ahead to see what lay before them. Grimlock considered this for a moment and agreed that knowing what lay ahead would be wise, and that swift Swoop would see much more from the air than he would from the ground. So Swoop assumed his aerial mode and soared up into the sky, enjoying the oppportunity to spread his wings. He circled higher and higher, but even so the tops of the towers which surrounded the plains were higher still. But as he gained height he had to admit that they seemed more and more like mountains, even though their craggy and sharp surfaces seemed more like that of fallen meteors than the gleaming surface of any mountain he was familiar with.

Then his keen eyes spotted something which greatly surprised him. At the foot of one of the great mountain-towers there was a pattern of regular lines on the ground. As if there had been walls there, made not of burnished metal, but instead crudely assembled of chipped and carved sky-fallen meteor -stuff. Swoop flew back to Grimlock, calling out to him that he had found something extraordinary, and that Grimlock should make haste to follow him.

Grimlock and Swoop soon found themselves standing next to what did indeed seem to be the remains of a building, and on closer examination they could see that the remains were not as neat and orderly as they had appeared at first glance. There were traces of the walls having been thrown down with great force, as if some entity with strength that might even match the prodigious power of Grimlock himself had matched that might against the strength of the wall and been victorious. The two Cybertronian's looked around but could see no sign of the builders of the walls, or of those who had overthrown them.
“This weird planet. Everything made from bits of meteors, even the ground,” Grimlock observed, “and to where went 'bots who made walls?”
“Perhaps they took shelter in the Underlevels?” Swoop indicated what seemed to be an opening in the mountain/tower nearby. It was odd, not regular and smoothly defined like the entrance to a tunnel or one of the passages of the Undercities on Cybertron, but rough and ragged as if only haphazardly carved out, “if they sought refuge from some threat on the surface then might they have sought that sanctuary on another layer?”
Grimlock looked at the strange opening, pondering what mysteries might lie beneath it, and as was ever his way he felt no fear at the thought of what might lie in wait in the Underlevels of this strange world. Instead he hefted his mighty sword and put his trust in that and in the prodigious strength of his limbs, and the two Cybertronians stepped across the threshold of the opening and into the waiting darkness...

Next: That which lurks in the depths...

[Andy Turnbull]

Thoroughly grand stuff Karl.

Really enjoyable.

Andy

[legios]

Grimlock and Swoop stepped fearlessly into the tunnel. Though the tunnel was unlike anything they had seen before they knew no fear, trusting in their own courage which had been proven many times before and in the strength of the own servos to keep them safe. And indeed the tunnel was passing strange indeed. Its walls were uneven, as if the tunnel had been cut and shaped haphazardly rather than to the clean, geometrically precise circular shape with which they were familiar. The walls indeed were different to anything that they knew. No light-conduits were threaded through the structure of the walls to illuminate their passage, yet it seemed to them that there remained enough visible light for their optics to perceive their surroundings. The walls were of a dull grey, as if the substance they travelled through was indeed the stuff of star-fallen meteors and not the metals and alloys of a planets surface. Seemingly at random, a green substance was spread across the walls of the tunnel in patches which varied in size and prevalence but with no pattern which was readily perceivable to them. Perhaps it was corrosion? If the passageway had not been maintained over the years then its exposed surface might have begun to corrode.

The two Cybertronians continued down the passage which descended at a steepening angle. At any moment they expected it to bring them to the metal of the planets surface. It was difficult to imagine how many meteors must have fallen on the surface of the world that they had built up to cover the surface so deeply. Both Grimlock and Swoop wondered if so many meteors had been seen in the whole of the history of Cybertron. The passageway steepened once more and Grimlock stumbled on the uneven flooring. He put a hand out to stabilise himself against the walls of the tunnel and received a further surprise. His hand slipped across a patch of the green substance and he felt it tear away from the wall, coating the end of his fingers. Turning his hand over he was surprised to see that his fingers now glowed dimly, as if light were coming from their ends. Swoop looked at Grimlock in surprise and then back at the wall.
“The light comes from the corrosion,” he realised. Grimlock shook the green residue from the ends of his fingers hurriedly, even as Swoop leant to take a closer look. Increasing the magnification of his optics Swoop stared at the green patch on the wall, “and yet I do not believe that this can be corrosion,” he observed. He pointed to Grimlock to look more closely. The other did so and realised what it was that Swoop sought to bring to his attention. What they had taken to be a discolouration of the walls of the tunnel was in fact an almost immeasurably thing layer clinging instead to its surface, itself made up of myriad tiny fibres, like a woven titanium banner, but on a scale finer and more intricate than either of them had ever seen even in Palace or Temple. They both stood amazed by the workmanship which could have created such a thing, and from such fragile materials which seemed to break and tear at the slightest pressure of a hand. But what purpose it served was beyond their knowledge. Was it some exquisite wall-decoration, and if so were they unknowingly treading on royal grounds of some noble of this island world? Or was it all that remained after the owners of this place had fled Grimlock wondered. Both knew that there would be no answers to come from merely standing in the passageway, so they continued downwards. Grimlock, though, checked that his sword stood ready in case of need and indicated to Swoop that he should do the same.

They continued down the passageway further, moving cautiously as they began to perceive a roaring sound coming from ahead of them. After a while, and with care and wariness, they entered into a long, narrow chamber. This too seemed composed of the same sky-fallen material as the passageway, and was lit by the same luminescent fine-weave as the passage. But the chamber was dominated by a torrent of liquid which rushed through it. Even in the dim light the two Cybertronians could see from the quality of the lustre and the strange way in which it moved that the torrent was composed of the same liquid which seemed to fill the seas which they had observed on the Ark's approach. The river ran on through a passageway which extended beyond the chamber into which they had observed, and they could see that a level pathway lead alongside the flowing liquid and they continued to follow it deeper into this strange environment.

At the site where the great Ark had made its landfall, the group of Cybertronians who laboured along with Pipes to refill the fuel receptacles aboard the craft were proceeding well with their task. Orion stood in the shadow of the great ship musing at the strangeness of the planet on which they found themselves.
“This place is like nothing I expected when we set out on this voyage,” he told wise Prowl who stood close at hand,
“Long has it been since any of Cybertron's children sailed the great ocean of space,” the other replied, “I would lay wager that before our journey is over we will see many more passing strange sites.” Orion could only agree with his wise counsellor's observation. Prowl was silent for a moment, but the unease which he felt was clear,
“Was it truly an act of wisdom I wonder Pax, to allow some of our crew to wander on the face of this island, when we are ignorant of what dangers may lie in wait for us here?” He asked of Orion.
“We have all been confined to long aboard the Ark, it will do us all some good to stand on the surface of a world under a sky once again. Even a sky that is as strange as this one,” Orion replied, “and though we know what may lie upon this world, I have placed my faith in this crew and its skills and courage to complete this voyage and it is important that I show them that trust.”
“Then it is my hope that your trust and faith are repaid in full measure.”

Grimlock and Swoop continued to follow the pathway alongside the flowing torrent. Grimlock halted and Swoop stopped and looked at him curiously.
“Me have had a thought,” Grimlock said after a moment, “Me think we have misunderstood what been before our optics. Me don't think that meteor-stuff has covered surface of planet. Me think that meteor-stuff is actual stuff of the Planet's bones itself.”
“A planet made of the stuff of star-fallen meteors?” Swoop was surprised “a strange thought, and yet one which would not disagree with the evidence of our optics. But what force could have summoned into being such a thing. Surely only the hand of the Light Gods could have gathered together the stuff of meteors and forged them into a world?”
“Me not know which of Gods make such a world. But me think it a very strange thing indeed, and me wonder what sort of robot would live on a world made of meteor.” Swoop indicated his agreement, but only absently. His head instead turned as if his audio receptors were straining to pick out a distant signal from the noise of the rushing torrent.
“Hear you that strange sound?” He asked Grimlock.
“Me not hear anything but echoes of liquid in great hurry.”
“There is a sound, like a distant call carried on the breeze...”
“Me think it important we keep wits about us.”

'There is something about this...” Ratchet seemed uncertain, “as if parts of it don't really belong, but at the same time something familiar...”
“I thought you hadn't heard this story before?” Ishtar asked, “So...”
“That is just it, I could swear that I've never heard any of this. But there is something about this underground stuff which feels like it doesn't belong for some reason.”
“Hmmm. I know that there are a lot of abridged translations from the Novaxian around which leave out or amend various sections, but I don't know one which leaves out this material...”
“Carry on, it is just an odd feeling of familiarity. Probably just a momentary database glitch...”

Grimlock and Swoop followed the passageway onwards, the roaring sound of the torrent becoming ever louder, but still Swoop could faintly hear a voice calling to him. The passageway curved and wove as it moved through the bowels of the world, and as they rounded one of these curves they noticed that ahead of them was a brighter light than that which came from the luminescent matting which clung to the walls. A bright light filled the tunnel ahead of them, as bright as the light of Alpha Centauri reflected from the golden spires of Iacon, and against the dimness of the passageway as warm as the living fire of the Matrix Flame itself. They drew closer to the light and saw that it was the end of the passageway, for as it disappeared into the light the torrent of liquid fell from view, as if plunging across a precipice as sheer as the edge of the Sonic Canyons. Fearlessly the two Cybertronians stepped across the threshold of the light, and their stood in wonder of what they saw. Spread before them was a new world, deep within the surface of the world on which they stood. They stood upon a great balcony carven from the meteor-stuff through which they had travelled, a balcony that marked the beginning of a great ramp which descended along the face of a great cliff or wall which seemed to stretch unaccounted megamiles in either direction, bounding what seemed to be a valley, or plain far below. They spied that the great wall on the face of which they stood had a slight curve to it and they realised at once that if this continued then it would bound this plain within a chamber of unaccountable size. They looked up, and as surely as they expected saw a great ceiling of meteor stuff far above them. They realised that they were in some sub-surface chamber far larger than even the galleries of Altihex, or even than the tunnels of the Great Circle roadway which would one day link the equatorial city-states. Yet still a sun shone in the sky above them. A single sun which looked so much like that which rose and fell above the worlds surface, not the multiple light-givers of Cybertron's familiar sky, but still the semblance of a sun, which was surely impossible so far under the skin of the world. So surprised by this were they that for a moment they did not notice what transpired far below them on the plain that the vast chamber bounded. But after a moment they looked down and saw that far below them things moved across the surface of this world beneath the world, moving with the purposefulness which both of them surmised must belong to living robots.

Next: The World Beneath the World.

[legios]

The two Cybertronians looked down from their high vantage point, onto the great underground plain which stretched out before their optical receptors. From their position high above they could make out great groups of creatures moving this way and that across the plain, and tiny forms in the air which could be natives with flight-modes wheeling far away in the subterranean sky. They could not discern the purpose with which the creatures moved back and forth but they could tell that they moved purposefully.
“Perhaps it is from them that comes the voice which has been whispering to me,” mused Swoop. Grimlock swore once more that he had heard no voice, and that he heard none now. His curiosity was roused however by the creatures that they saw below, perhaps the first non-cybertronian machines which any of the Light Gods' children had seen for a generation.
“Me wish to see these natives better. It be good story to tell our fellows on the Ark when we return,” He suggested. He motioned towards the great ramp which led down the wall of meteor-stuff towards the plain below.
“Allow me to suggest a more fitting, and swifter method of descent,” Swoop suggested. In a flurry of motion, of morphcore blending and panel-shifting, his form changed, folded and altered into his speedy flight mode. He circled Grimlock twice, calling to his friend to take hold. Grimlock, as he had done before leapt up and his mighty hands closed around Swoop's claw-like landing gear. Swoop's wings hissed as they sliced through the air of this strange enclosed sky. He turned in a steady spiral, ever descending towards the floor far below them. The air beneath his wings felt dead and still, without the eddy-currents and winds which gave a feeling of life to the skies of Cybertron. The air of Cybertron seemed to speak to Swoop as he coursed through it, but here it was as if the air simply sat lifeless beneath his wings. Or perhaps it simply had nothing to say to a foreign interloper who was trespassing where he did not belong? Yet still, at the edge of his senses he could perceive something, as if something far away still called to him.

As the two Cybertronians descended in their lazy spiral, Grimlock beheld the ground beneath him growing closer and the things that moved upon it larger and their shape and nature more clear to the eye. He saw a group of native creatures which seemed most strange to his optics. They proceeded not on the treads, or wheels that might have been expected of a creatures transport form, but upon legs. Even so, their locomotion was not that he was accustomed to from children of the Light Gods. Whilst there were a few beings on Cybertronians who, by design at least, had more or fewer than one pair of legs in their default mode – the rarely-glimpsed shy and retiring Dwellers who eked out a strange existence in Cybertron's lowest levels moved by a strange peristalsis of the body and eschewed the legs that Primus gave to his favoured children, whilst the Dreads whose predations of the city of Tersapsis Grimlock and Swoop had put an end to had been equally at home proceeding on two or four of their limbs as the mood and their feral anger took them. The dwellers in this strange underground world moved on four limbs as well, but whilst the Dreads had walked upon their hands as if they were feet these creatures seemed to have only feet upon their four limbs with no sign that they could rise from them and grasp the world around them. If this was truly the creatures transport form then where were their appendages of travel? For surely any attempt to move long distances on limbs alone was surely slow and difficult next to wheels or other appendages of transport? The creatures seemed ungainly in other ways than simply their locomotion. What Grimlock took to be heads, or perhaps sensor clusters were mounted at the ends of a long flexible appendage which, although mobile and allowing the creatures chemical and visible light sensors to be swiftly repositioned was surely dreadfully vulnerable to any enemy which might attach – just as the counter-weight which extended from the rear of the creature (for surely the blunt-tipped appendage could serve little other purpose than to maintain the creatures centre of gravity) seemed similarly vulnerable. One of the creatures' sensor appendage turned and swivelled to regard the Cybertronians who were descending through their lazy spiral toward the group. Grimlock thought he sensed a level of confusion in the creatures regard and, erring on the side of prudence and caution called for Swoop to set them down within sight of the group of creatures, but not close enough to them that they might seem to be intent on hostility.

“You know,” Ishtar observed, “they've actually found underground environments like this on several worlds.”
“I seem to recall something about that,” Ratchet agreed, “wasn't there one found on...”he paused, as his database seemed to stutter slightly over the name of the planet, “Delacroix? Near the Tiresian Cluster?”
“Actually I believe it is called Bob now,” Ishtar corrected him.
“The Bob Cluster?”
“No, not the cluster. The Planet.”
“There is a planet called Bob?”
“Post-humans, I've never really figured out if there is a system to what they chose to reference in their planet names,” Ishtar admitted.
“I guess from here we can't really throw hex-nuts...” Ishtar made a sound that, had she been human and possessed of a nasal cavity might have been an irritated sniff,
“Are you implying there is something wrong with 'Cynthia'”
“No, nothing at all,” Ratchet worked hard to keep the amusement from his voice.
“I should think not...”
“Who made them, them underground habitats I mean?”
“Ah... Now that is interesting, there are several competing theories...” Ishtar paused, “this could be quite a long conversation fork. Perhaps we should come back to it later...”

Orion looked with satisfaction at the progress that was being made. Pipes and those who laboured with him were swiftly filling the Ark with many barrels of fine fuel which would sustain the crew of the ship on the next stage of their great voyage. The rest of the crew, who had taken the opportunity to explore some of this strange world on whose shores they had fetched up, were beginning to return from their forays. Each returned with a strange tale of things that they had witnessed with which to regale their fellows. Some spoke of seeing pools of bubbling fuel-stuff like that which the Ark stood beside welling up in the landscape from sources deep below the ground. Others spoke of ruins which might once have been tiny structures built as if to be miniature buildings, now weathered and broken down by the passage of time. Perceptor, wise of learning and skilled in craft, returned to share his discovery of a place on this island continent where a liquid appearing much like that which filled the seas of this world ran across the folds and terraces of the surface and collected in pools in indentations in the ground. The others regarded him incredulously when he declared that he believe that the liquid might be the Oxide of Hydrogen - a substance so rare that a hands-full might command the ransom of a small City but here so abundant that Perceptor insisted that the very seas of the world might be filled with it. The others laughed at this wild idea, asking Perceptor why, if so certain was he that such a rare and valuable substance lay out in plain view for the taking, that he did not fill a container with it and take it with them on their journey so that he might live in wealth unimagined for the rest of his days. Perceptor regarded this suggestion with confusion and befuddlement. After all, was he not already wealthy in knowledge and learning, and was not this wealth scattered throughout life for the taking by any one with the wit and application to seek it out? Not all were so joyous and filled with laughter however. Prowl remained a grim and thoughtful presence even as the others came and went.
“What is it that ails you my friend?” Orion asked, “your manner is bleak as if some great concern ails you.”
“Pax, the others cavort and revel as if they have forgotten the importance of our quest in their relief to have been saved from the void,” Prowl replied, “we should remain focused on our goal and on the dangers ahead of us. Instead they wander the face of this island and expose themselves to its unknown dangers without a thought for their safety. Already I know not where some of our company has gone. The brothers vanished from sight for long enough, fascinated by the strange formations of organic compounds they had found rising from the plain five megamiles hence. And where mighty Grimlock has gone seems known to none.”
“But the brothers, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe both, have returned from their exploration, with their story to tell,” Orion reassured him, “and Grimlock may be the mightiest amongst us in strength of arm and skill at combat. He will return soon enough, and if he does not then there are enough of us that we may form a party to search for him and find out his location. Fear not, and enjoy this respite for I fear that you are right about the dangers still to come.”

Grimlock and Swoop approached the local creatures slowly and cautiously,
“We come as friends,” Grimlock declared.
“We mean no harm toward you,” Swoop added. Grimlock stowed his blade away, approaching with empty hands to give weight message that they intended no harm. The natives looked at them with wary curiosity, and suddenly their heads whipped around and they began to back away both from the two Cybertronians but also from the deeper reaches of the plain. Following their gaze the two Cybertronians spied a new creature approaching them with swiftness. This creature was of a different design to the four-legged natives that they had first seen. Although it still proceeded slowly on legs rather than treads or wheels, it had only two locomotive limbs. It's long body ended in the same sort of counter-balance the quadrupeds displayed but its sensor head was mounted not on a flexible extension but directly on the end of the body, which was coloured a deep red colour. The sensor head itself seemed to have both of its optics mounted to face directly forward and it also seemed to be fitted with some kind of powerful excavation or cutting tool, with serrated edges as if many tiny knife blades had been set edge to edge.
“Surely now you hear it?” Swoop asked, “the distant call, it becomes louder with every step this creature takes.”
“Me hear not anything.” Grimlock replied.
They stood their ground as the native mech came ever nearer Finally it stopped a mere two tens of steps away and regarded them first one and the other with its optics. Then, without warning or intimation, it spoke.
“Like us?” The voice rasped as if clawing its way from the vocoder to the audio sensor, “Unlike us?”
“Me am Grimlock, of Cybertron. Me's companion Swoop and me journeyed across black ocean to your world. Me am pleased to meet with 'mechs who call strange world home.”
“Strange,” The creature declared, “yes, strange...” And before their optics something unexpected began to happen. The creature began to change. Not a transformation for there came no engagement of cogs, no sliding of panels and no sound came of the breath of hydraulics that would accompany such an event. Instead the creatures reddish colour began to bleed into the air, as if it were surrounded by fire, and in these strangely heatless flames it began to flow and melt, changing and reforming. When the flames which consumed it had vanished, where once one creature had stood another, different biped form took its place. Swoop grasped at his head which rang with sounds now louder than they had yet been.
“Stay. Stay with. Stay with.”


Next: The call.

[legios]

Grimlock cast a glance at Swoop, concerned at the sight of his friend and companion who clutched his ringing head in his hands.
“What this that ails you friend Swoop?” Grimlock asked.
“The voices. They are so loud now, can you not hear them?” Swoop asked. Grimlock cast his head around, his audio sensors and radio receivers sharpened to maximum sensitivity,
“Me hears no voices,” Grimlock observed, indicating the robot who stood before them in his transformed state, “but for robot here.” The native of this island world regarded first Grimlock and then. for a longer moment, Swoop,
“Like us, but not like us,” it spoke in a broken and halting voice, “if like us stay with us.” Grimlock cast a wary eye over the creature. An unease settled across his processor, a feeling that perhaps they had delved too far, and were on the edge of something that was beyond the ken of Primus' Children and that perhaps should have been left undisturbed. Looking back over his shoulder to ensure that the way back to the great ramp which led up to the tunnel through which they had descended, and which led back up to the sanctuary of the waiting Ark and the bosom of their comrades was clear, Grimlock resolved that they should leave and return to the quest which awaited them. He took a step back, moving away from the creature that continued to regard Swoop in what seemed an almost inquisitive, appraising, manner. Grimlock told Swoop that it was time that they returned to the Ark, and to the great quest which awaited them, but it was as if Swoop was deaf to his words. The other seemed to hear only the voice from far away which filled up his head, huge and echoing as if it were to fill the whole of the vast chamber they found themselves in. Sparing no further words Swoop converted to his aerial mode, leaping into the sky and soaring higher and higher, ever further away from his ground-bound companion.

The air beneath Swoop's wing was no longer the dead and still thing which had been on the way down. Something, perhaps the sun that shone down benevolently on this great, safe, secure space, had exhaled the breath of life into the air. It sang beneath Swoop's wings as he soared upward, and the air streaming past his nosecone made the sound of a plucked, perfectly-tuned harp string. Swoop flew higher and higher, the air under his wings buoying him ever upwards. The warmth of the artificial sun was comforting as it played across his metal skin. As he rose Swoop could see the flying natives gliding down on the warm and comforting currents of air. He had regarded them with a wary optic when he had first arrived in this place, but he could no longer see for what reason he had done so. Were they not fellow travellers in the warm, welcoming air? Were they not then Swoop's brothers. Swoop knew then that he looked forward to flying these skies with his brothers, being at home in this place and soaring in this air forever.

Grimlock looked at the mechano-form who stood before him. Then his gaze rose towards Swoop, watching as his companion rose ever higher into the bright sky. Grimlock cast a look once more towards the native who stood meeting his gaze with an expectant patience.
“You release Swoop,” Grimlock declared, “give him back.” The native creature's form flowed and melted again, reforming into the bipedal shape it had assumed before.
“Stay with,” the voice growled, “stay.” Grimlock stood still for a lengthening moment, as if frozen in place. Then he turned his back on the native and its entreaties to stay and took the first steps on the long walk to the great ramp and the beginning of the long journey back to the surface.

“I can see the logic gates opening and closing in that head of yours you know,” Ishtar observed, “you're thinking hard about something.” Ratchet was silent for a moment, clearly preoccupied,
“There is something familiar about this...” he said at last, “the hero whose friend is taken away. Something... I can't quite put my finger on...”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I... Grimlock is going to leave the Ark isn't he? Is that what happens next?”
“Why do you say that?”
“I still have a sense that I should know this story, that it seems familiar.”
“Interesting...”

Orion did not immediately answer Grimlock's pronouncement, so great was his surprise at the words that the mighty Cybertronian had spoken. He looked on wordlessly as Grimlock gathered to him his weapons, and a ration of fuel taken from that which had been loaded aboard the great Ark.
“My friend, we shall wait for you. The Ark will await your return that you may rejoin us in our great quest.”
“No wait Pax,” Grimlock raised a hand to deny Orion's words, “Me think that our paths separate here and go different ways. You go on with voyage, bring Matrix back to people of Cybertron and they welcome you as hero. Me stay here. Me must find my friend and free him from evil thrall he fallen into.”
“You are a noble Cybertronian Grimlock. Our company will be poorer for the loss of you. But if you are certain of your path...”
“Me am certain.”
“Then none of us shall gainsay you.” Orion assured him. Grimlock walked through the halls of the Ark, past the assembled company of the ships crew who stood silent in respect.

Orion watched the planet dwindle as the Ark's great engines carried it upwards and away once more. The sight of mighty Grimlock's inexorable footsteps carrying him across the face of the island world as his own quest began was soon lost to view, and in little time the sight of the world itself was lost to view. Orion set aside the sadness that he had been so soon parted from some of this illustrious company. With a heavy heart he turned his mind once more to the quest that he had embarked upon, and the perils yet to come.

Next: “Claws of the air”

[legios]

There will be a short hiatus due to circumstances beyond the authors control - no new part next week, but we should be back on schedule by the week after.

Karl