Transformers Regenerated: Lost Light VI, Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX

--Caminus--

    A golden statue of Beta, the first Mistress of Flame, was the centerpiece of the aptly-named Beta Memorial. At her feet rested a plaque that bore all the names of past Mistresses, as well as the dates of their tenure. Carved into the bottom of the plaque were the words, "Viva la Solus" -- a dedication to the ancient Prime who had founded the colony of Caminus thousands of years ago.

    Rung was drawn to the statue not for its beauty -- although it was certainly stunning -- but for its posture. While statues of renowned figures on Cybertron had them standing proudly, this statue had Beta crouched down and looking at the plaque, her hands gripping the edges. It was certainly a unique design, one which no doubt had some sort of hidden meaning.

    Lost in wonder, Rung almost hadn't noticed the white and blue mech also staring at the statue until they turned to regard him.

    "Ever the artist, that Bricolo."

    Rung bit his lip, pretending to not recognize the voice. "He sculpted this, did he?"

    "At Beta's request, yes. He did similar sculptures for some of the tribe leaders -- such as the Prima statue that used to reside in the Grand Imperium."

    "Ah. Yes, I can see his influence -- it's all in the facial features... or lack thereof." Rung then turned to look at the other mech, his eyebrows furrowing in consternation. "So. You're still alive."

    "You sound surprised," Froid replied, casually examining his servos.

    "I thought you had died," Rung said. "The last time I saw you was over two centuries ago, when you left for a psyche examination at Garrus-6. High Command lost contact with your ship and the staff at Garrus-6 said you never arrived."

    "Hm. Yes, you can thank the Decepticons for that. I can see how one would be unable to survive a Heavy Brigade assault... but I managed. As did my patient."

    Rung tilted his head. "Patient."

    "Yes, he's been under my care since that event -- although I've allowed him to interact with these Camiens on his own." Froid tapped the side of his head. "I've still got my optics on him, though. So far he's been fine."

    Still trying to wrap his processor around all this, Rung shifted his gaze to a pair of beads hanging from Froid's neck. "Are those Primal Beads? I thought you were an atheist."

    Froid wagged a finger in Rung's face. "Now, now. Time and place for everything. I want to hear a little from you now, Rung. What have you been up to recently?"

    Before Rung could answer, Froid's comm suddenly started to beep. He answered it, raising his wrist to his speaker mouth.

    "Froid, here. Yes.... Uh-huh.... Oh.... I see. Right, of course. I'll be right over."

   "What is it?" Rung asked as Froid ended the call.

    "Trouble in the medibay. Apparently one of the patients just threw a major fit."

*  *  *

    "Is everything all right in here, Velocity?" Overcast asked as he entered the medibay with Rodimus and Ultra Magnus close behind. "I got your call, but I was in the middle of speaking with Afterburner and you know how he is with interruptions...."

    An aqua-green femme emerged from one of the wards, a disquieted look on her face. "Oh, everything's fine. Just nearly got killed is all."

    "I thought I heard screaming and swearing when you called me," Overcast muttered. "So what happened? Did a patient wake up berserked?"

    "Something like that." Velocity beckoned the three mechs into the ward and they walked in to find an unconscious red mech laying on a berth, a large dent in his faceplate. The hulking blue femme standing watch over him was no doubt to thank for that.

    Both Rodimus and Ultra Magnus looked upon the patient with shocked expressions. "Skyfall?" Rodimus blurted. "What's he doing here?"

    Velocity raised an optic at him. "You know this bot?"

    "He's an Autobot-- Cybertronian, like us," Ultra Magnus said. "He used to work at Kimia before being exposed for illicit business. He was then transferred to Garrus-9 to work as a prison guard, until it was overrun by Decepticons."

    "Skids told me he ran into him and two others at Garrus-16," Rodimus said. "He never saw them again after it got blown up."

    "Well, we picked up him at Talrus, though he had been unconscious at the time," Velocity said. "I don't know what caused him to wake him up now, but I don't think I want him to again."

    "How exactly did he react?" Magnus asked. "Did he actually attack you or simply acted violently in general?"

    "Try a bit of both. He seemed to be under the impression I was torturing him or something." Velocity then folded her arms and frowned. "Then again, he also called me a 'filthy Autobot.'"

    At this, Rodimus and Magnus both exchanged concerned looks.

    "In that case," the former said, "we'd better get Ratchet. This calls for someone with real medical expertise."

    "Oh, there's no need for that," Overcast said. "Firestar's crew already picked up a highly qualified medic. He was the one who confirmed Thunderclash's passing for us."

    "Oh. What's his name?" Rodimus asked.

    "Probably one you know better than I do, since he's Cybertronian like you. He calls himself Pharma."

--Outpost One--

    "Hey. Hey."

    Ricochet groaned as he strained to lift his head up from the steel cold floor. The room was dark -- and his nightlights weren't functioning for some reason -- making it difficult for him to see the other bot in the cell with him, save for their blue optics.

    "If you can understand me, flash your headlights."

    Ricochet did as told. The other bot let out a relieved sigh.

    "Good. About time I finally spoke with someone who still had their processor running properly. Did you tell him anything?"

    "Huh?" Ricochet replied.

    "Mesothulas. Did you give him any intel?"

    "What does it matter to you? How do you even know Mesothulas?"

    "Same way you do. I used to work with him."

    At this, Ricochet straightened up. "Wait. You're with the Secret Service?"

    There was a long pause before the other mech's response. "Yes. Yes, I am."

    "How long have you been here? Did Prowl send you to capture Mesothulas as well."

    "Tell you what," the other bot said. "Help me escape, and I'll give you the answers you need."

    "Do you have a plan?" Ricochet asked.

    "Yes. And it's a heck of a one. All I need you to do is to put yourself into stasis lock."

    Ricochet frowned. "How do I know I can trust you with my unconscious body?"

    "Believe me, the worst things I could do to you aren't even half as bad as what Mesothulas could do."

    "Yeah? Why should I buy that?"

    "Look down."

    Ricochet did so and cast his gaze to the floor. He immediately screamed. Staring straight at him, imbedded into the cell floor, was the lifeless face of a Cybertronian. He took a step back, only to scream at another face, then another. Then another one. The floor was made up of nothing but faces.

    Ricochet put a hand over his mouth, switching off his optics to be rid of the horrific imagery. For once, he was grateful Artfire wasn't here; the big white lug would be teasing him right now.

    Artfire.... Turning his optics back on, Ricochet looked back at the other mech, who was looking back at him patiently.

    "My partner," Ricochet said. "We can't leave without him."

    "Do you know where he is?"

    Ricochet blinked. "No...."

    "Then I'm sorry, but he's as good as dead. Mesothulas rarely leaves his prisoners in... good condition. I don't know why he spared you -- or me, for that matter -- but it's something we should take advantage of. Sooner rather than later."

    Ricochet clenched his fist, his face contorting into a rictus of anger. "I am not going anywhere without him."

    "You're not going anywhere but the Pit if we don't act now. Mesothulas will be back here any minute now to do God knows what to you. And I highly doubt you're going to survive a second encounter with him."

    "So you're saying I should just abandon him?" Ricochet snapped. "That I should just let Mesothulas do as he pleases to him?"

    "Sometimes, sacrifices must be made," the other bot said, and Ricochet could tell he was starting to walk towards him. "If your positions were reversed, would you not want him to do the same?"

    Ricochet opened his mouth to reply, but was stopped by a hand falling on his neck, while something else pressed against his helmet.

    "I'm sorry I have to do this, but trust me when I say it's for both of our benefits."

    Ricochet then felt a pulse and everything went dark.

Transformers Regenerated: Lost Light VI, Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

--Caminus, Grand Hall--

    "I think it's going to be a while before we get to meet the Mistress of Flame."

    "And the Great Detective solves yet another elusive mystery," Whirl said, tapping his head against the wall. He had already had had enough of all the bots pouring into the Grand Hall, they're bright colors and curvy frames being too much for his single optic. "I wonder what mystery he'll solve next? The location of Optimus Prime's trailer? The true colors of Rumble and Frenzy? The actual spelling of--"

    "Whirl, we get it," Nautica snapped, leaning against the wall with her left foot propped against it. "You don't want to be here. Don't we all. Just keep your mouth shut and maybe--"

    "What did you just say to me?!" Whirl roared, spinning around to get into Nautica's face. "Did you just tell me to shut my mouth? Huh?" He gestured to his face, which only bore an eye; no mouth to speak of whatsoever. "Those are fighting words, pal. You wanna pick a fight with me?"

    "People are starting to stare," Nightbeat muttered, seeing the numerous faces turned towards them. "You two might wanna break it off. Or, better yet, stand on complete opposite sides of the room."

    Whirl and Nautica remained glaring at each other for a moment until the former finally backed off and strode away from the other two, vanishing into the growing crowd of Camiens. Once he was gone, Nautica allowed her frame to relax.

    "I'm surprise he actually listened to you," she murmured. "Even Ultra Magnus can't always get him to obey."

    "I suppose it just depends on the mood, he's in," Nightbeat said. 

    He then stepped aside as a large, blue and white Camien came over and set down an engex distillery unit next to him. Once she had hooked it up and got it running, the Camien poured a glass and handed it to him. Nightbeat shook his head as he waved a dismissive hand.

    "Thanks, but I'm not--"

    "Oi, it's not fer you, mate!" the femme snapped. "I was givin' it to Nautica. Yer just in the way."

    Nautica reached over and took the glass. "Thank you, Starfield. Say, you haven't seen Overcast anywhere, have you? He left to speak with someone after getting the news and I haven't seen him since."

    "Nay, I'm afraid I haven't," Starfield replied. "You might try asking Skystriker. He's...." Her speech suddenly trailing off, Starfield tilted her head at something out of Nautica's line of sight. "Oh. Look who it is."

    Nautica frowned, not turning around. "Who?" she asked quietly.

    "Turn your blasted noggin and see fer yourself," Starfield grunted, taking a hold of Nautica's head and turning it.

    It wasn't difficult for Firestar to stand out from the rest of the crowd. This was owed in part to her "flame hair", a modification to her helmet which made her detectable from a mile away. It also helped that she carried herself as if she was better than everyone else in the room, as if she were the host of a party or something.

    Then again, she probably was. The way she was giving directions to others certainly gave Nautica that impression.

    "That's Firestar, ain't it?" Starfield asked. "The two of you are s'posed to be Amica Endurae, right?"

    "Yeah," Nautica murmured. "We are."

    "Well, go on then!" Starfield gave her a small push. "Go talk with her! You've got thirteen hundred years to catch up on."

    "Joy." Left with no choice -- and Nightbeat watching her curiously -- Nautica started to make her way towards Firestar, silently praying to Solus that everything would go curiously.

*  *  *

    "Excuse me. Pardon me. Coming through."

    Rung pushed his way through the crowd, trying hard not to bump into anyone or cause any grief. Luckily, no one seemed to take notice of him. Sometimes, he was grateful for the knack for inconspicuousness he always seemed to have.

    Eventually, he came out into a clearing within the crowd and found Swerve in his natural habitat: working at the bar. Upon seeing Rung, the white and red minibot grinned and waved him over.

    "Howdy, partner. What can I get for you?"

    "Why, dare I ask, are you running a bar in what's supposed to be a funerary service?" Rung asked. "And to think I would ever have to ask a question like that...."

    "The femme with the head on fire told me that Thunderclash wanted to be remembered in the same way he had lived: with much glory and splendor. In other words, a party."

    "Ah. And you're in charge of refueling."

    "Hey, no one else was up for the job, so I volunteered. At least it's something I'm good at." Swerve frowned as he scanned the crowd. "Now if only someone would come by with that engex distillery."

    Rung cleared his voicebox. "Well, I hate to cut this conversation short, but I'm looking for Fortress Maximus. He had been just with me a minute ago."

    "I think I saw him walk out with Ratchet. Don't ask me where they've gotten to though," Swerve replied. "Although, speaking of looking for people, some mech was just by here looking for you."

    Rung lifted an eyebrow. "Really? Did they say why or who they were?"

    "He didn't say why, just that he wanted to meet you at the Beta Memorial on the fifth floor. I didn't catch his name, but he was a real spindly fella in white and blue... and a speaker for a mouth."

    Rung took a step back, putting these descriptors together in his head. No, it can't be. It can't be him.

    Adjusting his spectacles, Rung thanked Swerve before reentering the sea of bots, making his way for the exit.

*  *  *

    "Well, well, look who it is."

    Nautica stopped cold in her tracks, having not realized that Firestar had seen her approach. She quickly put on a cheerful smile and waved back at the red femme. "Hey, Firestar! Long time no see!"

    Firestar laughed as she came forward. "No kidding. Last I heard from you, you'd just finished your exams at the Monoplex Academy."

    Nautica's expression wavered, processing her friend's words. "Monoplex...? Firestar, that was over a thousand years ago. I've sent you probably a dozen more since then."

    Firestar's own grin dropped from her faceplate, becoming an orange blank slate. "Oh. I guess I never got them. Was probably too busy or... something."

    "You... you didn't think I had forgotten about you, did you?" Nautica asked, frowning. "That I had put everything behind me when I left?"

    "No. No, of course not." Firestar laughed, though it hardly sounded genuine. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not that kind of bot. We both had our own lives to live, and I suppose it's easy to get caught up in them."

    "Maybe so," Nautica murmured. "But I still sent messages to you, at least one every year. I only stopped because of the war and--"

    "I understand." Firestar rested a hand on her shoulder, still wearing that unconvincing smile. "I do. Really. You don't need to explain yourself. It's all good."

    The two Camiens held each other's gaze for a moment until Nautica returned the smile with her own. "Okay. If you say so."

    Dropping her hand from her best friend's shoulder, Firestar then said, "So. Overcast tells me you're searching for the Knights of Cybertron as well. Have you made any progress?"

    "Uh, funny you say that." Nautica rubbed the back of her head. "So far this is the only progress we have made -- getting here to Caminus. Our captain wanted an audience with the Mistress of Flame, but... that seems to have been postponed."

    Firestar hummed, her face unreadable. "Yeah, we had just been over Troja Major when Thunderclash started... failing. We had been about to visit an antique collector who was said to have knowledge on the symbol Thunderclash had been seeing in his dreams."

    "Symbol?" Nautica asked. "Dreams?"

    "Yeah, you'd have to ask Velocity about it. All I know is that it's some weird gear shape."

    "Interesting. Well, at least you guys have something to go off of. All we've got is some slapdash map Drift came up with."

    Firestar chuckled. "I'll admit, I'm surprised we've gotten this far without one. All we have to go on is Thunderclash's visions and hunches."

    The two friends then fell silent, both trying to think of another topic to discuss. While they had been talking, someone had started playing music -- "Hymn of the Wingless Angel" by Sir Lukarios V -- and the lights had been turned off to bring out multi-colored ones. Already bots were starting to dance to the beat. Pretty soon there'd be no good place to stand without colliding into a blind dancer.

    "Well then," Firestar said, already turning to leave. "I'd better go back to preparations. Want to make sure Airwave doesn't play anything offensive again. Last time we had a party, he played The Chaos Bringers' 'Cybertron's On Fire (And Mortilus' My Conjunx).' Needless to say, Afterburner had a field day."

    Nautica chuckled lightly. "Then you'd better get going. I'll see you around, yeah?"

    "Of course. Later, Naughty Nautica."

    Firestar left with those words, leaving Nautica standing there with a smile that didn't know what to do with itself, that looked like it didn't belong.

    It was a smile that told you the person wearing it was feeling anything but happiness.

Transformers Regenerated: Lost Light VI, Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

--Outpost One--

    "So little Ragnarok's gotten himself on the loose, has he?" Tarantulas chuckled to himself as he moved about his lab. "Ah, children. Can't live with them, can't live without them."

    Gigatron sneered, standing by the door with his arms crossed. "You are offensively calm about the situation. Ragnarok is out there in the galaxy unattended. Unsupervised. Wreaking havoc to Mortilus knows how many worlds."

    "Why do you sound so concerned about that?" Tarantulas asked, looking over his shoulder at him. "You're a Decepticon warlord. Havoc is part of the game for you."

    "Yes, but Ragnarok isn't a warlord; he's a simple-minded experiment who is unable to look after himself. Without supervision, his power can prove just as dangerous to us as it is useful."

    "You underestimate him, Gigatron." Tarantulas skittered from a table, having retrieved a scalpel, and moved towards the deactivated Artfire on the medical slab. "He may be no Shockwave, but he's considerably smarter than a Vehicon."

    Gigatron snorted. "Regardless, we must find him as soon as possible. Do you have any sort of tracking device on him?"

    "If I did, we would not still be standing here," Tarantulas said as he set to work. "But not to worry. I've already prepared a set of trackers for a situation such as this."

    "In that case, give them to me and I shall--"

    "Oh, pardon me. I did not mean to imply they were ordinary tracking devices." The spider bot shifted over to hit a control panel, which transmitted a private signal. "They're much more than meets the eye. And they're waiting for you in hangar six."

    Gigatron scowled. "What kind of game are you playing at, bug?"

    Tarantulas cackled as he set about slicing up Artfire's head. "The best kind. The one which I win every single time."

--Caminus--

    "So, if you don't mind me asking, what exactly brings you lot to Caminus?"

    Rodimus quickened his pace to catch up with Overcast, who was still walking with Nautica down the Citadel's silver and blue hallways. "Well, we're on a quest, you see."

    "Ah, those are always fun," Overcast said. "A quest to find what?"

    "Not what, who," Rodimus said, grinning. "We're searching for the Knights of Cybertron."

    "That right? Funny."

    Rodimus frowned. "I know it might sound ridiculous, but--"

    "No, no, no," Overcast said hastily. "You misunderstand me. I'm not making fun of you or your quest... I was just remarking on the fact that you're the second ship to arrive today with the same mission."

    Rodimus blinked. "I... beg your pardon?"

    "No more than a minute before you arrived, a group of shuttles from the Vis Vitalis landed in our hangar. They're searching for the Knights of Cybertron as well."

    This brought Rodimus to a cold, dead stop. Everything ahead of him suddenly seemed to be a hundred miles away and he could not find the energy to press forward. While the others simply moved past him, Drift came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.

    "Hey. Is everything all right?"

    Rodimus did not reply and instead rushed back over to Overcast. "Wait, you mean to tell me Thunderclash is looking for the Knights of Cybertron?"

    "Yeppers."

    "Then what's he doing here? If he's had Camiens like you and Windblade and what not on board, that means he's already been to Caminus before. Why would he come back here instead of, you know, making progress?"

    "Now that, I don't know," Overcast said. "I had not been informed beforehand of their arrival, which makes me think there's been some sort of emergency."

    "Ha! That's rich!" Rodimus said dryly. "Thunderclash never has emergencies. He's the greatest Autobot that ever lived. Even Optimus Prime looks up to him. Heck, people say Omega Supreme goes to him for advice. Omega fraggin--"

    Overcast raised a finger to silence him, holding another to his comm. "Hold that thought, I'm getting a call. Yes, Lightbright?"

    The Camien listened patiently to the bot on the other end, saying "Yes" and "Uh-huh" sporadically. Then he said "Oh" in a tone that was usually used whenever bad news was received, and the "I see" which followed gave Rodimus the impression something seriously bad had happened. Finishing up with "Okay, I'll be there soon," Overcast ended the call and looked to the others.

    "I hate to end the tour before it's even begun, but we have to go to the Grand Hall, asap."

    "Why?" Rodimus asked. "What happened?"

    "Thunderclash is dead. The funeral is being held in three hours."

--Earlier--

    In all his life, Afterburner could not recall ever being in a good mood. Regardless of what period the universe was in -- war or peace -- he could simply not muster the "positive energy" that his fellow Camiens encouraged him to show. He woke up every day with a burgeoning sense of dread, fearing that something somewhere was going to go wrong for him. And nine times out of ten, nothing came about to justify those fears.

    So it just figured that, the one day he got out of his recharge station actually feeling optimistic and good about himself, a bombshell like this was dropped on him.

    Propping himself against the balcony's railing, he rubbed the top edge of his mouthplate, sighing deeply. "You're absolutely certain he's dead?"

    "He's already succumbed to rigor morphis," said the red and orange femme behind him, the flame emitting from her helmet flickering. "We've done multiple scans on him and none show any sign of spark activity. He's dead, Afterburner. No doubt about it."

    Letting go of the railing, Afterburner turned around to face Firestar fully. "Any idea what caused it?"

    "Our best guess is the spark injury he suffered at the Fall of Grindcore. However...." Firestar shifted her feet slightly, her optics darting. "For the past few months, every bot we've had visit Thunderclash to serve their honors have died. Countdown, Peritus Maximus... even members of our own crew, such as Vertex and Photon."

    "You have some sort of epidemic going around?" Afterburner asked.

    Firestar shook her head. "I don't think so. None of our scans on the ship have picked up anything, and the bots who have died look to be in perfect health-- besides the fact that they're dead, of course."

    "Radio the Vis Vitalis to come down and I'll order an inspection," Afterburner said. "In the meantime, we should bring this news to the Mistress of Flame."

    "Actually, I think we should let everyone know," Firestar replied. "Thunderclash is respected greatly by all Camiens, more so than any Cybertronian besides Optimus Prime. It's only fair that the whole world knows about it."

    Afterburner sighed. Although he had never thought much of Thunderclash unlike most, he knew Firestar had a point. Turning on his comm, he said, "All Cityspeakers, this is Commander Afterburner. I have some news I want you all to know...."

--Now--

    "Oh my god. Oh my god."

    Skids poked his head out the Rodpod to see Rapid Run staggering, holding herself up against the ship. Frowning, he asked, "What's wrong?"

    "It's Thunderclash," she replied, her voice softer than a whisper. "He's... he's dead."

    "What?" Skids exclaimed, incredulous. "Are you serious? How do you know this?"

    "A Cityspeaker just radioed me. Said it was spark failure." Rapid Run towards the Citadel, her optics filled with sadness. "Apparently that's why the Vis Vitalis is here."

    "Wow." Skids leaned against the door frame, shocked. "That's just... wow."

    "Pretty much. They're holding a funeral in the Grand Hall in three hours."

    "Are you gonna go? I don't mind, you know. I've already got company."

    "I probably should. Except...." Rapid Run shook her head, turning away from the tower. "No. I should stay here. I have a duty."

    "You sure?" Skids looked to see other Camiens moving towards the Citadel, clearly having received the call as well. "Seems like everyone else is leaving their post."

    "Which is precisely why I should stay. Someone has to keep a look out for any unwanted visitors."

    "Does Caminus get those often?"

    "Well, no," Rapid Run murmured, rubbing the back of her head. "The last one we had was... about a century ago. It was a ship full of organics trying to sell us illegal tech. They were completely harmless, just, you know... pushy."

    "So, given that, what are the odds of a Decepticon warship dropping from the sky and bombarding the planet?" Skids asked, smirking slightly.

    Rapid Run huffed, crossing her arms. "Enough to not make me take any chances."

    "Fair enough," Skids said, turning to leave. "Trouble does tend to always strike when you have your back turned."