CHAPTER ONE
--The Lost Light--
It felt so good to be back.
Standing behind the counter, mixing drinks... it just felt so... right. As if balance had finally been restored the universe. All was well.
Swerve wasn't sure how it happened, but he now had a bouncer as well. Apparently Huffer had found the deactivated Legislator he had stashed away (and completely forgotten about) and got it working again. Thankfully, it was no longer trying to kill everyone -- although it did seem overly fond of saying the number "Ten".
Since he had a bouncer now, he had also decided to go all the way and put up a set of rules at the entrance of the bar: No guns, no swords, and no briefcases. The last one was probably in bad taste, but he was sure Brainstorm could take a joke. It wasn't like he was a regular anyway.
But besides all that, the thing that made Swerve most happiest of all was seeing a full house. All of the booths were filled up, all of the seats were taken, he was constantly running back and forth to take orders, deliver refills and scare Clutch out... it was amazing.
"Well, someone's looking chipper today."
Swerve looked up to see a silver and red mech seat himself at the counter. "Hey, Crosscut!" he greeted. "I thought you'd be working on your play."
"I would if my actors hadn't all been here," Crosscut grumbled. "One quart of Big Bad, please."
"Coming right up." As Swerve started fixing the drink, he gave Crosscut a sidelong glance. "Say, you haven't seen Tailgate have you?"
"No. Why?"
"I haven't seen him in forever. I was hoping he would come to the Grand Reopening."
"He's probably with his grillfriend," Crosscut said. "Or is it pronounced gearfriend? Gallfriend?"
Swerve grunted to himself, shaking his head. "Of course. Should have known."
"Gullfriend?"
"I mean, what's the deal with those two?" Swerve went on, shaking the energon he was preparing. "If they're Cojunx Endura, fine, whatever, nothing wrong with that. But even Rewind and Chromedome don't lock themselves in their hab suite for hours on end."
"Uh-huh. Try not to shake it up too much."
"Like, who even does that? The only kinds of people I know who do that are...." Swerve suddenly froze, his jaw hanging open. "Oh no."
"What?" Crosscut asked.
"You don't think...? Oh god."
"What? What am I supposed to be not thinking?"
The bartender turned to fully face the playwright. "Okay, you know that most organics tend to make their own kind, right? They're not born from the ground like we are."
"You're referring to biological reproduction."
"Is that the proper term?" Swerve asked. "'Cause I've heard other words--"
"Don't believe everything in those 'films' Bluestreak shows you," Crosscut said, a hint of distaste in his voice.
"Right. But even in those films... they like to touch each other a lot. Like, lots of touching. To the point where they're almost wrestling, except without the energon spilling and the limb tearing, and Grimlock's not performing his super-awesome Dyno-Slam maneuver on Stranglehold--"
Crosscut rubbed the bridge of his note. "Get to the point, Swerve."
"But we don't do that! When we touch one another, it's more of a gesture and not... nothing more than that. But with these two...."
"Have you seen them... do anything?"
"No." Swerve thought for a moment. "Well, I have seen them bump faceplates. I guess that's supposed to be kissing...."
"But why?" Crosscut asked. "Why would they be doing that sort of thing?"
"Glyph is an archaeometrist. She's obsessed with studying alien cultures and biology. She'd be the first to tell you how Nebulans or humans or Torkuli express their... attraction. And now I think she's reenacting that with Tailgate."
"Okay." Crosscut tapped his fingers on the counter. "Well, there you go. Mystery solved. Are you done with my drink yet?"
Swerve didn't answer him immediately. Instead, he set the bottle down and turned over to Bluestreak, who was helping him manage the bar.
"Hey, Blue! I'm gonna be gone for a bit. Hold down the fort for me, will ya?"
"Sure thing, pal."
With that, Swerve emerged from behind the counter, grabbing Crosscut by the arm. "Come on."
"Hey! What do you think you're--"
"We're gonna get to the bottom of this, once and for all."
"You're joking, right?" Crosscut asked as he unwillingly followed Swerve out of the bar. "Because if you're planning on what I think you're planning, then this is a gross invasion of privacy."
"Maybe so. But if it means stopping my friend from getting into something he knows zero.... then so be it."
* * *
"You're out of your armor."
Minimus Ambus looked confused as he entered Rodimus' office. He quickly caught the captain's meaning. "Ah, yes. I found it was too large to traverse the ship in. It's in my quarters in alt mode right now."
"Mm." Rodimus did not look up from his desk, idly carving its surface with a small dagger.
Minimus waited a moment before speaking again. "Where's Prowl?"
"Back down on Outpost One, trying to sort things out with his 'Secret Service.' Apparently Tarantulas had hacked into their computers and impersonated him, redirecting signals from their base to his own."
"I see. And the clones? Did you glean anything from talking with them?"
"Not much," Rodimus muttered. "Only that they came from someplace called Outpost Two. Prowl told me that the Wreckers had already been by there -- that's how they picked up Convoy -- and that the 'Cons had already erased most of their files."
"That's unfortunate." Minimus fell silent again, the only sound being the scraping of Rodimus' blade. Tugging at the end of his mustache, Ambus then said, "So where to now?"
Rodimus said nothing.
"There's still the matter of Cyclonus...."
"I know," Rodimus said. "But I have no idea where to even begin looking. He could've been taken anywhere in the galaxy."
"Perhaps we could ask Prowl if Outpost One has any data on its sister bases," Minimus suggested. "We could start by looking there."
"I guess."
Minimus frowned. "There's something else bothering you, isn't there?"
Rodimus' shoulders sagged. "I just feel that I've let everyone on this quest down. First Garrus-16, then Caminus, then Carcer and the clone invasion, and now Outpost One... it just feels like we aren't making any progress in finding the Knights of Cybertron and are just losing crew members left and right."
Minimus sighed. "I understand how you feel. Commanding such a large crew is a major responsibility, especially for some one without much experience."
"Right," Rodimus murmured, shoulders hunched as he continued his carving.
"That said," Minimus went on, "I must admit that you've done a remarkable job for someone as new to the job as you."
Rodimus looked up at him, a surprised expression on his face. "Really?"
Minimus nodded. "You are willing to put the lives of your crew before your own goals and will go through fire and hail to save them. Reckless and brash as your actions may be... your determination and passion behind them are remarkable in and of themselves. Optimus Prime would be proud."
"You think so?"
Minimus allowed himself a small smile. "I know it for a fact."
Rodimus smiled back just as a light started blinking on his desk. Leaning over, he pressed the comm button. "Captain speaking. What is it?"
"Blaster, here. Prowl needs you come back down to the moon, asap."
"Did he say why?"
"He just said that he had found something juicy in Tarantulas' computers."
"Okay. Tell him I'll be on my way." Ending the call, Rodimus rose from his seat. "Looks like we've found our leads after all," he said with a smirk to Minimus.
"...Prowl doesn't say 'juicy,'" Minimus said, frowning.
"I'm sure that's just Blaster paraphrasing."
"Right. Of course." Minimus continued to frown even as he followed Rodimus out of the room. He just couldn't help but wonder what exactly Tarantulas had subjected Prowl to in all that time....
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