Summary: Arrested as “Traitors” by a squadron of Ancient looking Transformers, Cyclonus, Scourge, and Rumble are faced with the reality that the rare enigma called, a solar flux, (See parts 2-4) has unwittingly pulled them all into Cybertron’s di
Categories: Generation One Characters: None
Genre: Drama
Location: Library
Challenges:
Series: None
Chapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 5676 Read: 890
Published: 26/02/04 Updated: 26/02/04
Metatisic Part 4: Regardless of Age!
AUTHOR'S NOTE: It is important that you read "Metatisic" Parts 1-3 before you continue ant further.
SOME WORDS TO KNOW..
Nin’ger --(N-inn-ger) The Nin’ger passage., a providence of Ta’nak.
Alpha-Centauri -–The Karna., Cybertron is said to orbit it. This sun-star is actually mentioned in the Marvel US TF comic Vol. 1
Dourjer –-(Doe-ger) Title of a Decepticon monarch
Shanix –-A currency., another word with canon TF origins, Shanix was mentioned several times in the UK Marvel comics.
Iysurus –-(Eye-sur-us) The Iysurus temple mount is the grand palace of the Dourjer in Bractos
Metatisic –-(Met-a-tie-sik) The current reigning emperor of 'this' timeline and the 'father' of Megatron.
<<< Energon intact: 0071.93% 0000:0008800 >>>
“Hmm.” Cyclonus sighed at the schematics. He was hardly 100% energized, but he entertained the logic that was the intention from the very beginning. They were captives after all; accused of suspicious activities and disobedience to a commandment none of them knew nothing of in a world beyond the lambency of the bars just before him that he understood even less.
Freedom had been much too temporary. It wasn’t much longer as the last of the remaining prisoners were still being fed into the graters that the general Sarterius had sent the order back to Pycon to corral the three Decepticons back aboard the roller-cell once more. Now, from his seat in the corner, his legs drawn up to his chest, Cyclonus nonchalantly regarded the cage from its floor to the ceiling before landing on the rows of supercharged spears to his right.
“That wasn’t even enough to even tickle my transistors .” Scourge complained. For a moment, his face appeared lopped in half in the murk dark. Crescents of neon sketched across his cheeks pegging pin-lights of whitened gold into the vats of his eyes.
“Anything more would have been a luxury.” Cyclonus declared.
“Mm. ..They don’t want us to be at our max that’s for sure. Only functional.”
“Yes. Able to stand whatever trial they are preparing us for, I’m sure.”
Halos of current sped the length of the prison bars Scourge stood beside, “They activated the charge ----- Er, Cyclonus?” He hestitated, “Rumble is right, you know. You don’t seem all that concerned given our --”
“I AM right! You hear that?” Rumble homed in on the distorted echos of the combine still resounding the camp and pointed, “Soak it in cause there’s your trial, O’ dear Commander!”
“You’re both wrong.” Cyclonus leaned into the cell wall huffing his admittance at long last.
For the lieutenant, the reason was a lot like seeing at the dusk. To see a dimly lit object, you had to look just away from it. The rods and cones of his mind’s eye also functioned like that. Cyclonus panned slightly away from the facts in an effort to glimpse past them. He had it ... He actually had it much earlier knowing it before they reached the Ohiiden Camp. He spoke nothing, turning it over in his mind, approaching it from different directions to see if his conclusions were sound. All those years of experience, all that reading and the intensely disciplined intelligence – it all converged on their problem. He foraged through the filing cabinets of his memories, pulling a fact here, another there. There could be no certainties, but there was no other logical explanation.
“I’ve just been deep in thought.” He said, “About this place ... about where we are .. how we got here ... I was rationalizing our situation earlier.”
“And?” Rumble stepped closer.
“And? Heh ..And that there’s nothing I CAN rationalize. I’ve heard of these places Sarterius spoke of, just like I heard them when we were at the ruins on that asteroid. About this ...this Bractos. Even the least historical savvy Decepticon ought to be familiar with the legendary Bractos. It was the capital metropolis of the ancient Decepticon empire millions of years ago in our golden age.”
The second-in-command paused. A seriousness infected his whispery tones.
“Even when he met us, Sarterius said: By order of the empire of Ta’nak. I was debating even then. Bractos existed in the heart of Ta’nak so how? ... How can this be true?”
“Maybe it’s a different Bractos?”
“I don’t think so. Scourge.” Rumble injected shaking his head, “It still wouldn’t explain why they wear the Decepticon crest of allegiance.”
“Nor how they knew about Cybertron either.” Cyclonus added, “Clearly these transformers are indeed Decepticons much like us, but they are of a quite earlier period. It’s no wonder why we are odd to them.”
“You mean to say that we’re somehow in the PAST! That’s your conclusion?!” Scourge hunched towards him. He accented the word “Past” in a inconceivable tone.
“Shhhhhhhh!! Scourge!! What I’m saying is that we are clearly no longer citizens of time as we know it to be, and this is not the Cybertron of the 21st century. We ARE on Ta’nak. And I have my hunch that the structure remains we discovered earlier today has a lot to do with the cause of our being here now. I just don’t know how.”
“All good and well.” Rumble snorted, “So we figured it out, but that still doesn’t help our situation, or about what we’re supposed to do now. Our ancestors think we’re traitors, Cyclonus!” Worry spidered his expression as his optics leapt to a nest of troopers patrolling the grounds, “Being a Decepticon taught me at least a few good cardinal rules, and one of them is, Traitors die!”
“Yes, but the key word here is that they “think”, Rumble. They “think” we’re hiding something. They haven’t proved it.”
“So?”
“So I intend to make them believe the opposite.” Cyclonus’ left brow curved when he smirked, “Our information must be important to them otherwise I have my doubts that Sarterius would have spared us this long to not just as soon condemn us all with those other robots.”
“That’s the puzzle that’s not fitting for me.” Scourge questioned. Hissing once when he pondered it, he shook his head, “Who were they? They were no transformers I ever heard of.”
“That I can’t answer. It’s just as much a mystery to me.”
“Well they looked like transformers.”
Rumble pressed his lips together unconsciously stretching the cord of current braced around his wrist until they clinked at the joint, “Who, or whatever they were, they’ve certainly incurred a lot of wrath. If your lie is going to work, Cyclonus, we’re going to have to know a lot more, and what it is these Decepticons hate so much about them.”
“I think it would be also vital that we’re all on the same page when we do.” The Sweep leader insisted, “If they were to question us independently and discover that our stories don’t match ---”
“Right. We’ll be goners for sure.”
“Information forthcoming, General!” The foot soldier’s announcement was just as rushed as his salute. Sarterius paid no mind, much more interested in the flood of mock-infrared that was beginning to fill the view screen at last. Half-hidden by the convention of other members of the squadron, they parted when the commander marched over.
“Many of the transmissions were coded, sir, but Coronach managed to pin the Rougeon center operation.”
“Good! Bring it up now!”
“Right away!”
“General!” The soldier seated before the screen popped up like a spring. Sarterius had learned to expect this from the young officer — as navy as the Cybertronian skyline itself, Coronach was still fresh to military service and always seemed to be much too serious about the presentation of his formalities that he often over-exaggerated them. Sarterius had found the difference entertaining and a stark contrast to the serious-minded stoic bred that military life often brewed.
“At ease, Coronach.” Sarterius eyeballed the flight of super-imposed pixels already sketching a thermal canvas of the Ta’nakian landscapes, “I just want to know where they are.”
“South-west of Nin’gur. It’s the same area we encountered the minor disturbances last week and took some casualties.”
“I never consider causalities to be minor disturbances,” Sarterius replied with a note of irritation, “Neither does his majesty, Metatisic.”
“Yes, sir.” Coronach hovered his palm out across the console to adjust a pip on the map display and increased the magnification. Peppers of infrared dots seemed to float over the screen. As the General leaned over his shoulder, Coronach drew back to a smaller scale picking out another crop of warm images further away.
“There they are.”
“Good. And they won’t be for long!” Sarterius hammered his fist upon the control grid to empathize their goal, “Beat Down?!! Report!!!”
“General?” A large soldier appeared at the commander’s left.
“Beat Down, you will be taking Chamfer and Coronach with you. I don’t want anything or anyone to get in or out of the Nin’gur passage. Also, cut any power you might discover that could be feeding the premises.”
“If I can make a statement, general?” Coronach interrupted, “Most of the current was already cut by the first battalion. From the looks of it, they were quite thorough.”
“Not thorough enough.” Beat Down argued instantly, “Excuse me, sir,” He said tossing his knowledge to his leader, “The Rougeons have pilfered generators and the prisoners confessed that their allies have been tapping energon supply units. I’m quite certain that they still have ample power.”
Rage kissed the commander’s eyes; his jaw tightening, Sarterius spun sharply scoping the full range of his men, “DESTROY THEM!!!” He snapped, “DESTROY THEM YOU HEAR ME?!! We will squash this pestilence in its nest once and for all!!!”
“The generators, sir?”
“The entire complex, Beat Down! Now that we have found them I will arrange for the second legion to meet you at the cusp of the passage once we’ve organized matters in Bractos.”
“Of course.”
Coronach’s optics flicked once more to the view screen just as Sarterius began to walk away, “What better luck.” He chuckled, “We won’t have to concern ourselves much over possible resistance. Forward scouts registered little activity around the Nin’gur subdivisions. Children and elderly mostly. No problem at all.”
“I said everyone, Coronach.”
“UNHH?!!!”
“EVERYONE!!”
“But! ... but! ...... Every pardon, Great one, but children? Rusted old men?!!”
“Enemies breed more enemies so that when they die their fundamentals survive to become the heirs of more sacrilege. If left unresolved the cycle resumes. An enemy is an enemy, Coronach, and petty things like age should have little to do with that fact ..... ... destroy them all!”
The inexperienced youth was numb from the frigid air resounding his resolve, Sarterius could tell. Coronach stood gapped-face wanting to reply, but unable to mouth it passed the newborn infection of stutters that he could only manage now. Defeated, the soldier pressed his lips tight hanging his head.
“Anything else, Coronach?”
“No, sir.” He whispered, “No ..nothing further.”
“Very well. Return to the monitor and report any changes you discover.”
“Yes, general.”
“Fellow comrades!!” Sarterius barked aloud, “At ease, but we journey to Bractos in 5 astro-hours. ..be ready.”
CHAPTER 7: Onward to Bractos!!
The rhythmic sway of the goliath is constant, its motion is unbroken except by the sudden, abrupt pitch of a crater ---- Unless it was a rock in the road, but It’s hard to believe that option taking into consideration the incredulous girth of the prison’s track wheels clawing its course along the journey. Every encountered struggle, its talons grate that much more loudly bleeding painfully sharp over the cat-calls of the drivers just outside and the footmen echoing them even though Scourge could tell they were screaming to the top of their lungs.
Passed the squadrons is the Cybertronian landscape --- The Sweep must take their word for it even though it’s impossible to conceive. Did Cybertron really look like this once? So .. so clean? The far-flung silver seems to go on forever without so much as a silo since they left Ohiiden. In the distance a mountain chain is beginning to sprout, but nothing more. Maybe it’s just Ta’nak? Whatever the case, modern Cybertron, with it’s cities built one on top of the other that they seem to penetrate its very core, knew no such reality.
Scourge exhausted on a new curious violet-red that was beginning to shred the indigo sky. All night long, Cyclonus had grilled them. They swapped old war stories and salvaged the scrap memories of others for anything that could assist them in the plight. A caravan approaching from the opposite direction clued they were getting closer. Maybe it was enough?
“Remember what we spoke of, Scourge.” Cyclonus had said when they first left the camp, “You too, Rumble. We cannot afford errors.” Since then he cautioned them twice more. Maybes were out of the question.
Scourge glanced stealthily over his shoulder at his charge. The lieutenant was momentarily bathed in a wash of dark pink that was bleeding in from the light outside. It stole across the floor of the cell saturating him and Rumble both while triggering the haunted reminder of how they got here in the first place.
The prison lurched again; tipping high on the left. Scourge almost grasped the bars pulling back just in time startled by the sway, the pop of electricity, and the loud shouts of one soldier calling above it all: “Na’ draac myr carda!!!”
“What was that?”
“I don’t know.” Cyclonus snapped his head to the commotion just as Rumble flew to the bars beside the sweep mouth gapped.
“Unnh!! Cyclonus!! Scourge! .. Will you just LOOK AT THAT!!!”
The wine was exchanging with new orange bleeds turning from fire yellow to pale blonde in only seconds. In a throne of aluminous summits turned gold ahead, three highways of white ripped the fabric of the horizon line like the Autobot matrix when opened and catapulted it’s far-reaching rays high into the stratosphere.
“Na’ draac myr carda!!!” Foreign tongues repeated the line until it became unison. Some of the troops had stopped altogether beating their weapons against their shields, or bowing their heads. Others saluted.
“Mei-dra ras skek-sir reedan!!
“Mei-dra ras skek-sir reedan!!
That’s when Scourge saw it, the silver peaks seen in the distance earlier began to forge shapes looking less and less like the mountain he has assumed they were. The drill of the foot soldiers grew louder until they rivaled the rankle of the prison cell for the first time. His optics drew wide open, “What in Cybertron is THAT?!!” He exclaimed.
“I’ll tell you what it isn’t!”
“It’s Bractos!” Cyclonus stammered. So this was it .. His eyes projected the amazement. They had heard of it, but never saw it. Most modern Decepticons insisted it was mere myth and fairy tale.
“Na’ draac myr carda! Praise be the great Karna!!”
“Praise be the great Karna!!”
“What do the ‘cons mean?” Scourge squint at his comrades.
“They’re refering to the star in the sky.” Rumble pointed, “The Alpha-Centauri .. The Karna. ..I told you back at the ruins, remember? The Alpha-Centauri was once the brightest star of Cybertron. It orbited the planet and was visible at its strongest peak for only 17 astro-minutes of each day. Predominately on the Ta’nakian peninsula. You know the Autobot god, Primus, right?”
“Yeah?”
“Well the Karna was said to have had the same religious impact on ancient Decepticons.”
“Apparently it is true.”
“I appreciate the education, Rumble, but in case none of you noticed, we’re stopping again.” Cyclonus shielded his face from the fire of the star and picked out the majesty of red, gold, and purple streamers fluttering above arches guarded by twin statues the size of Bruticus.
Pride or fear? – He juggled the emotions searching the first cluster of bronze and pewter colored spires he could see foresting the capital sprawl from their position. The visual realities of Bractos had not failed the legends. Somehow there was a thrumming woven with it all, soft and rhythmic like the drone of a million gears. Imagined or not, his systematics charged in its power so almighty that when the cage whistled its puffs of steam, Cyclonus actually yelped with shock. He spun to see his allies finding Sarterius already climbing aboard.
“Ahh .. Fear.” Sarterius said, “Well you will have much more where that came from, Decepticon.”
While two other troopers rushed the cell seizing, knocking, and wrangling them into a straight line, Sarterius shelved the formalities motioning to the figure standing cross-armed beside him as a strand of electro-chain was garlanded between them.
“This is Beat Down.” He said, “He’ll be your escort to the Iysurus temple mount. I would like to extend a note that I would be offering my praises to the great Karna if I were any of you at this moment. It’s not often that your Dourjer is so willing to meet with scum. Many others have perished in their prison stalls awaiting his consideration.”
“Yes, m’lord.” Cyclonus nodded. “Our gratitude is already in his hands for his most divine mercy.” Now was his chance: “Na’ draac myr carda!!!” He chanted, and quickly mimicked the bow of the patrols he had viewed outside.
“Na’ draac myr carda!!!” Scourge and Rumble repeated, “Praise be the great Karna!”
Did it work? No telling. The commander said nothing at all!
“He’s not buying it.” A voice in Rumble’s mind screamed. Looking at Cyclonus, his head still bowed, his eyes ballooned on the floor of the cell, “No! The Decepticon is smart to us.”
“Mmm ..” Finally! “... Yes, of course! Na’ draac myr carda epti-ka rasur ne towe-in.” Sarterius patterned their salute and at last turned for the exit. “As you were. You may carry on, Beat Down. I shall meet with you at the summit.”
“Yes, general!”
Out of the darkness and into light. ..like shades drawn open on a window. Stepping from the gangplank, the experience of Bractos in full view was much like those casual expressions. The fields of plate metal that seemed so endless earlier found their dead end here rising from the Ta’nakian purview in all assorted shapes, sizes, and mixed dynasties; the testimony of millions of years. It was all networked together by neon blue tubing that Cyclonus figured might be some sort of inner-city transport.
“Your king is most eager to hear the information concerning your time spent in Cybertron, Decepticon brothers.” Beat Down’s smile was teamed with as much sarcasm as his superior’s, “Better make sure you got it to give, eh?”
All grandeur aside, Bractos wasn’t too unlike any other Cybertronian city. It’s inhabitants teamed the transit in droves, congesting the streets, and lining the byways with soldiers, civilians, and merchants all biding for any passerby to take even the slightest interest:
“Energon! Mech ambrosia! ...Energon, lord? .. Straight away!”
“Cyclonus.” Scourge cautioned with a whisper, “Think the general noticed anything?”
“If he did, he certainly made no attempt to enlighten us.”
“No thanks to me.” Rumble jogged closer to them, “I’m the one with the dialect recorder.”
“Not so loud, Rumble!”
“Great soldiers of his majesty!” A voice preached above the throngs, “Honored warriors of Karna! Come see! Come look! Finest quality weaponry in all of Ta’nak. Won’t find no better.”
“Eh! You still selling this pig iron!”
“Oh .. Right!” The cassette pressed his lips tight, “Yeah, but you gotta admi—!!
SKRAK!! BAMMMMMMMMM!!! THAK!!!
“—Ahhhh!!!” Rumble vaulted the slag of the merchant suddenly exploding from the neighboring hut, hitting the electro-chain hard when he landed in the streets nearly knocked Scourge to the ground with him. From a hole in his chest, plumes of smoke was fanning when his attacker -an angry ‘con soldier- emerged from the rumble of the sales booth:
“You retro-swine! This gun you sold me last week jammed the first time I tried it! Cost me four Rougeon hides!! That says you owe me the 230 shanix I paid for this trash including the 700 more I would have earned by you cheating me out of my kill!”
“Of..of course, s-sir.. I.. I...”
“Make it snappy or I’ll make garments of your data track units!!”
“Heh-heh ..sounds like were home, Cyclonus.”
“Shhh! Rumble!” Cyclonus tossed a mindful glance to Beat Down marching before them thankful that the spectacle had stolen his attention for the moment. “Want to get us killed?” He whispered, “Keep quiet! We don’t want to look like tourist!”
“Oh .. Right.” Giggles to his left steal his attention when they round the first corner. Three women walk by chatting amongst themselves, “Whoa! ‘Con chics! Oooyeaa.. .... oops! Sorry, sorry.”
“Dammit! Rumble!”
“Ah! Beat Down!” The new figure before them at the first of the capital’s many trans-tunnels, armor is potted by fishers and dings, but clearly he wears more age than battle scars. He salutes Sarterius’ servant respectfully and steps aside of its dock, “Slaves?” He asked.
“Prisoners.” Beat Down corrected.
“Mmm ..a shame.” The elderly Decepticon thumped Scourge’s shoulder and pulled on Cyclonus’ right wing, “They look like the sturdy sort. The slaves are on their last bolts back in cargo and there’s been nothing but Sarian junkers polluting the last five auctions. So where too? The prison combs, I suspect?”
“The temple mount, actually. These three have an audience with the Dourjer.”
“So soon?” He humored. A dull scarlet glow sheened across the lenses of his optics, “His majesty is generous.”
“Destination?” The trans-unit chimed.
“Oh yes,” The old man pecked at the control panel near him, “Sector 64, computer, the Iysurus temple mount.”
“Affirmative. ..Estimated arrival ... 4.3 astro-minutes.”
So the general Sarterius wasn’t boasting after all when he said meeting the ruler was by far a matter of privilege. The feeble ‘con seemed quite impressed while Beat Down had hustled them aboard the hover platform. Now that his back was towards them, Cyclonus allowed his eyes to float to Scourge eavesdropping upon their ancestors’ continued conversation as the dock lifted and vacuumed them into the subway.
“It has been a long time since Bractos has seen you, Beat Down.” The elder said politely.
“And it’ll be much longer time yet.”
“Oh? Really?”
“Mmhm .... Rougeons. They’re infesting the Nin’ger passages now like so many cyber-mites.”
“They’re getting brave, you know?” The elder rocked grasping the rail tighter as the platform plummeted around the crown of another silo and jetted to the right, “Seems they’ve outgrown their guerilla tactics against lone caravans and are attacking the capital more openly now. One of them got passed the sentries this morning,”
He revealed, “A woman made her way into the Dourjer’s dorm, presumably in an attempt to kill him. Certainly she died before she could deny it.”
“A woman?” Beat Down fought not to laugh, “A female nave shames the might of the imperial guards?! Now there’s a surprise.”
“Shame nothing. ..I dare not estimate the number of woman that follow the armies. What the emperor wants to know is how she got into his quarters. ...heh..come now, Beat Down, is it any wonder how she managed to breech the Iysurus compound?”
“Haha .. you can expect none of them to claim responsibility.”
“Oh, but they will.” He said, “The Dourjer is most insistent this time.” The trans-hover lit up when it docked into a port hugging the foundation mount of what certainly had to be the Iysurus,
“..The guards ran her through when he called for assistance, much to his annoyance: He had plans for questions. We don’t even know what she wanted.”
“One thing’s for sure, she couldn’t’ve been looking for the emperor’s favors.” Beat Down finalized with a snicker.
Rumble tipped his head back as the platform elevated the summit’s spine much more slowly now and watch a sweat of mech-fluid slide down the bridge of Cyclonus’ nose. As the hover stopped with a click, his mouth gulfed wide upon the magnitude of the terrace spilling before them. In the full dawn of the Alpha-Centauri, its gun metal gray plates were streaked by all sorts of rainbow and gold crescents.
“Karna keep you, Beat Down.” Their chauffeur did not follow them off the transit, but only grasped Scourge’s shoulder once more, “If these three might become available,” He said, “Do let me know. They’re young. I could use a few good slaves of this variety.”
“If they’re not slagged first.” A new, but familiar voice announced from near a huge, gilded brazier that was burning from the center colonnade of the platteau. True to his word, the general Sarterius was there to meet them. Behind him, towing it by the feet, another group of soldiers flung a female corpse by the transporter dock. It made the antique Decepticon momentarily forget his desires.
“That the girl?”
“What’s left of her, yes.” Sarterius replied, “One of the guards has confessed to bringing the woman inside. He’s pleading for the preservation of his hide at this moment.” He snapped his fingers at the three prisoners ho-humming the case any longer, “You, you, and you. .. Come along.”
The Iysurus made no qualms about hiding it’s antiquity to the rest of Bractos. Its avenue of archways, statuary, and colorful awnings decorating the route to the heart of the precinct would be no doubt familiar to predecessors of even these ancestors. 
He marched them in a procession: Sarterius in front, Beat Down at the rear not saying much now accept for the occasional offering of a direction to take as they neared a span of bryrite stairs that was stretching the full girth of the palace facade. From it’s rise, clustered number of richly clad gentries were arguing ferociously in Delepic — about the intruder most likely.
Cyclonus’ brow gabled at the sight and the new detonation of awareness. It flashed on and off in his thoughts like a faulty lightbulb masking images of his memories with what he was witnessing now.
"Cyclonus?!” Rumble pointed. He sensed it too. These stairs! These same bryrite alloy steps! The ones from the asteroid ruins! The detailed cravings of the pillars framing the door as they passed them --although much cleaner and richer– confirm it.
“Shut up!” Beat Down spanked the blunt of his sword against Rumble’s back, “No talk! Keep moving!!”
The security inside was, to no surprise, thick. The robots gathered here kept breaking off their conversation to cast quick, sideways looks full of scorn in their direction. From somewhere unseen footsteps sounded over the faint harmonics of beautifully sung mantras. Passed the eave of another archway, the next chamber, in stark contrast to the ones before and the commotion just outside, was void and quiet save for two guardsmen flanking the entrance. They did little, but peer them down when Sarterius stopped the prisoners before an empty throne at the center of the room.
“Bow your heads!!!” He roared and thud them in the knees , “Show respect to your master!!!”
“That won’t be necessary, Sarterius.”
The voice came from ceiling it seemed. His head bowed as commanded, Cyclonus’ oculars climbed the rise of a staircase just behind the throne up to a drape of red ablaze by torchlight flickering from the columns nearby. Twinkling constellations of gold, something moved in the shade.
“But ..but my lord, Metatisic, these Decepticon sol----”
“I’m sure that they can tell me themselves, Sarterius.”
“Mas---” The general’s face immediately underwent rapid changes of expression. Paused gap-mouthed, it was the first time Cyclonus had ever seen him so defeated. Sarterius jerked visibly and almost staggered when he surrendered recoiling backwards from the throne.
“I .. I....of course, my league.” He bobbed his head a series of times with semi-closed eyes as the curtain was batted aside.
It was the engorged vats of Rumble’s optics that actually made the lieutenant wonder if there really was reason to fear. Rumble had gasped at the mention of the ruler’s name, and was shaking visibly now; shivering as feet landed each step down to the floor. His jaw tightened and he clenched his fist when the silhouette of the entity bathed across the lot of them.
“Rise your heads.” It spoke softly.
One eye cracked open first, then another, upon twin rouge panels that were following the lift of his head. The chalice perched by the Dourjer’s chin dropped uncovering an expression that was neither amused, nor hostile. Even so, Cyclonus’ optics snapped wide upon the monarch, traveling from the neutral gate of his lips, up the lines etching out his cheek plates, back to the angled cuts of his eyes still staring soundlessly.
There is an uncanny intimacy in this emperor’s swine new smile, an embedded familiarity cradled in the accent of his voice that was as haunting as the bryrite staircase on the way in. The Sovereign’s face was dirty white and framed in ruddy colored construct matching the plates of his chest, all save for the blemishes of yellow and sherbert pans caused by the irregular lighting of the room. When he tipped his head back to inspected them all, Cyclonus realized that the gold winkles they had seen from the stair top came from the crown he wore. Fashioned of brilliant gold plate, its three curved prongs were topped by rough cut rubies.
“What is your name, soldier?” The monarch’s left eye slanted when he asked.
Cyclonus couldn’t speak, but he didn’t realize he was staring until Sarterius shoved him hard on the back, “You’re Dourjer has asked you a question, Decepticon!!”
“Cyc .. cyclonus, great one.”
“Mm ... and you are?”
“Scourge.”
His gaze flicked to the third.
“Un .. Rumble.”
Metatisic sucked at the brim of his goblet, “Cyclonus, Scourge, and Rumble .... I’m certain I don’t recall the likes of any of you. What are you doing here in my kingdom?”
Regaining his composure, Cyclonus stepped forward bowing his head again, “We were brought here, Mighty one. Your general Sarterius had----”
“I am already aware that Sarterius placed you under arrest. You were discovered at the Cybertronian borders, yes?” He turned from him towards his throne, but never sat down. “I gave strict commands.” He asserted turning back to face them, “No soldiers or civilians were permitted outside of Ta’nak?”
“Yes, mighty one, this is true.”
“Then you were aware of the order?”
“Oh! No, no, great master.”
“Which is it then?” The blackened bridges of the emperor’s brow lofted to match the risen volume of his demand, but his formulation changed very little, if at all. Searching Cyclonus’ face as he explained, Metatisic never interrupted once. Triggers of a scowl here .. an arched brow there, he wagered the reliability of the Decepticon and measured the delivery of his answers without hint to his thoughts or his impressions of the testimony.
“And what were you doing in Cybertron all this time?”
“Geographical expedition work, M’lord.” Cyclonus lied in promising flawlessness, “Exploration.”
“An adventurer sort. .. I see. And have your efforts proved much to you.”
“Aside the barrenness, not much else I fear. We revealed that the composition of the Cybertronian landscape isn’t too unlike our own. We had run out of rations and were on our way back when we were stopped at-----?!.”
“That is enough.” The sovereign put up his hand for him to stop, “I’ve heard enough. .... Servant woman! ” He clapped his hands once. A young woman appeared instantaneously. He deposited his chalice on the tray she bore, requested more energon, then shot a quick dart glance back at the lavender Transformer.
“Lord?”
“Let’s say that I accept your confessions.” He began, “You three hardly look the malevolent type .... but so did a lot of others.”
He hesitated for a moment. Cyclonus bent his head to the floor again in an effort to conceal the worry draining down his cheeks to his chin. His face fushed with heat.
“Given that I might believe you, since I cannot disprove your story as of this moment, allow me to state this,” Metatisic sauntered back towards them, “Should I find that what you have spoken is not truth, and that you lied to spare yourselves juctice ...”
The optics slide left to Scourge,
“... that the reason of those lies were to conceal actions participated in any way with the Rougeon rebel cause ...”
The optics slide right to Rumble. A newborn sinister octave quickly replaced his calm,
“... I will have you all dragged into the streets of this capital where your fellow Decepticons will tear the armor plating from your still fuctioning carcasses!! Your heads will decorate these walls!!” He reached out to take his vessel from the tray when the servant returned, “Do I make myself clear?”
They all bowed, “Yes, Mighty Metatisic.”
“Tell me, traveler, you and your comrades, have you seen the new sentient beings reported there during your adventures?”
Newly discovered robots, much like the subject of these Rougeons, they are caught in the resound of it, but know nothing about either. Scourge was afraid of this, but is thankful that the leader’s quiz was not part of their interrogation as it was a matter of curiousity.
“I hear they look like us.” Beat Down crossed his arms looking over to Sarterius, “Peculiar Decepticon variant with blue eyes.”
“Blue eyed ‘cons?” Sarterius chuckled.
“Ah, but it is true they say. If you can trust the caravan reports.”
“Autobots!!” Scourge gasped. Rumble gnashed, but it was much too late. He clamped his lips tight noticing both Sarterius and Beat Down were looking at him.
“Autobots?” Metatisic’ hand left Cyclonus’ shoulder to touch the sweeps’, “What are these? You have seen the Cybertronians then?”
“We heard they were called Autobots, Great one.” Cyclonus answered quickly, “We were ....”
A yellow panel from the monarch’s breastplate flashed suddenly: “Mighty Metatisic?” A voice broadcasted, “Highness, Shockwave returns, lord.”
The disappointment of the interruption faded into a smile teasing the corners of the leader’s lips. “Shockwave?” Rumble’s shades flickered watching as Metatisic set his goblet on the arm of the throne and pressed the button of his consol,
“Very well, legate, Tell Shockwave that I’ll meet him at the port.”
“Yes, Highness.”
“Sarterius!” Metatisic tottered for the doorway, “I still have mind to talk with these Decepticons. I want to hear more of these Autobots.” He peered Cyclonus down, “I may not be able to prove the status of your claim, Decepticon Cyclonus, but I am a firm believer that time does indeed reveal all truths. You are free at my command in my service so that I may decide for myself if you are lying. .. consider it probation Merrhahaha!”
TO BE CONTINUED...