“My lord, you are undervaluing us,” Defender says. “President Patel, Knight-Commander Ironclad, do you not recall a project known as Project Defender? Its purpose was to investigate a strange new technology found on a prototype vehicle at a human military base. The vehicle had been found just before the Great War began, and it was used successfully by the United States against several incursions, and in several wars, most notably in the defeat of an insurrection in the Middle East.
Would any of you now recognize that vehicle? I doubt it, though it was given to the government of Cybertron as a gift from your government only a century or so ago.”
Defender walks forward a few paces, then transforms into the tank mode he had spent so many centuries in.
“I apologize for the irregularity,” he says, his voice muffled through the tank’s radio speaker. “But I thought I should warn you that I know about your order from the inside out, Knight-Commander. I was part of it before you had risen in rank. I am Defender, ex-Knight of Cybertron, MIA since the beginning of the War on Earth. I have fought for the freedom of humanity, and I am prepared to do so wherever and whenever necessary.”
Oreo stared. His optics were wide with amazement as he listened. He knows the human planet?! He was a Knight?! He fought for the HUMANS?!
Razor heads into the spaceport, eager to avoid the wrath of Riveter. She enters a shopping area, searching for someone who could sell her some spare parts and tools. Along the way, she stops at a restaurant and orders a drink, then continues shopping.
Oddball of Vergrandis emits a shrill electronic whistling noise as he rolls his wide eyes. A translator program interprets the sound and delivers its translation in a monotonous male voice.
"Oh, come on," it says. "If there’s anywhere that’s safe to speak, it’s be here."
“The Basilica’s probably the most secure place on Cybertron,” Downburst tells Axis, trying not to sound too boastful- or perhaps not too offended at the suggestion that the security that she and the other Angelicons provided here may be anything less than airtight.
“We believed the festival to be secure, as well,” says Sum-of-Many, the gestalt mind ruling over Concordia. Their voice is also flat and emotionless, like Oddball’s translator. “However, we were obviously mistaken.”
“You were attacked?” Bootleg blurts out, halfway-through reattaching his arm. “Is everybody alright? Is Salvage dead? How much of his stuff did he leave me-”
Then, Defender speaks:
There is a flash of recognition in Ironclad’s eyes as he looks upon Defender’s tank form. Yes, he recalled dispatching an honor guard to the ceremony marking this soldier’s return to Cybertron- but he hadn’t known that he was another Knight of Cybertron. Much of the Order’s history is shrouded in myth- even to its own people.
“Forgive me,” the Knight-Commander then apologizes. “I did not recognize you. The march of time leaves much lost to history, and it seems that tales of you and your exploits befell such a fate. You may be right: my conduct has been beneath a man of my station. However, I have concerns over the company you keep, and how you have conducted yourselves thus far.”
Ironclad gestures to the holographic recordings of the brawl at the Hall of Records. “Axis,” he says, speaking again to the Prime (@MaxinePrimal), “you and yours were reckless in your engagement of the thieves. You endangered the lives of their hostages and of bystanders around the Hall. It is only through the grace of Primus that there were no casualties apart from the leader of the aggressors.”
“Well, all’s well that ends well then, right?” Bootleg interjects. “Besides, man, us Relic Hunters weren’t exactly professionals either, if you remember.”
“I do not recall us engaging our enemies with such reckless abandon,” Ironclad replies to the minicon.
“Well, you did join the ol’ Fetchquest to Save the Universe kinda late,” Bootleg recalls. “You shoulda been there when we trashed Quintus Prime’s tomb.”
At this, Yggdrasil, the leader of Spirabilis, the colony of Quintus Prime, narrows her eyes and emits a low, rumbling sound. “Yeah, shouldn’t’ve brought that up,” Bootleg realizes. “I’ll shut up now.”
“With this in mind,” Ironclad continues, steering the conversation back on course, “I hope I do not seem unreasonable in my hesitation to offer you my complete trust, without further explanation as to what your plans are.”
Chancellor Chaplain of Hecate wordlessly nods his head, and Curator Index of Sophos stands behind the Knight-Commander. Hammerhead of Gigantion frowns, while Rampart of Bellator looks ponderously ahead.
Public space transportation throughout the New Imperium of Cybertron is robust: there are shuttlecraft offering quick flights to Eukaris and Astrum, and to the other world’s within Cybertron’s domain. There are also a few private enterprises offering transport for a modest fee, offering various luxuries that the public shuttles do not have- and also the promise of greater protection against potential attacks.
Quite a few merchants have set up shop in the nooks and crannies of the port- travelers selling various trinkets and curios that they have acquired on their journeys across the galaxy.
A human man wearing drab body armor and a red cape sells bits of odd tech. “This one here’s a Valkyrie suit, folks!” he calls out as he points to a ruined suit of powered armor resting on a table. “Found it just outside the Outback Exclusion Zone, and its datacore is intact! It’s a one-in-a-million find!”
A Junkion woman woman holds up a glass box containing a severed hand. “This right here is the one-hundred-percent, gen-u-ine, no-fooling, honest-to-Primus left hand of Manos Prime, ladies and gents!” she declares. “Lost for eons, recovered by yours truly on a daring excursion into uncharted space. I’ll tell you all about it, if you’re willing to pay extra!”
A nebulon man sits by an enormous freighter, selling salvage that he has evidently collected from across the stars. There are parts from starships of every species, bits of old frontier colony infrastructure and machinery, and some ominous pieces of black-and-red technology that aren’t so easily identifiable.
Some of our heroes have left to arrange transport to Astrum, while others have gone with Axis to speak to the leaders of the other cybertronian worlds. Others still have thought to check in on the thieves who attacked the Hall of Records. Firestorm is of course free to join any of these pursuits, or to prepare for the voyage to Lacuna in his own way. (@BlackBeltGamer98)
Overgrowth departs through a space bridge, taking the human mercenaries to Primogenitum. Hopefully, the prisoners will be taken into the custody of the Knights of Cybertron without incident.
“I will admit the reckless behavior seen at the attack on the Hall of Records was a personal failing. One I do not intend to repeat. I will also admit that graceful or tactful combat has never been my strong suit. I suppose it may be an inherent Eukarian quality of mine. But after a rather cryptic message of the Matrix of Leadership, and the wise council of Optimus Prime, it is something that I will do everything I can to improve upon.” Axis replied.
Maximus decided to spring for the more luxury option. He was more than able to afford the extra expense, and with the young one joining him he figured the extra protection would be a good idea.
So the two approached one of these private shuttle services. The young Honeycomb eagerly taking in the shining sights of Iacon along the way.
“I submit myself to your judgment, Knight-Commander,” Defender replies, returning to his robot form. “If the others will agree,” (he gestured to Oreo and Kitai), “I’m sure that your questions will all be answered.”
He salutes Ironclad, then returns to his place beside the others, standing at attention in perfect military fashion.
Oreo, meanwhile, is shocked at Bootleg’s accidental statement about his activities at the tomb of Quintis Prime. That guy just admitted to vandalizing a Prime’s tomb! Why hasn’t anyone done anything about him?!
He stopped upon remembering that Bootleg was currently in charge of Junk, and likely couldn’t be arrested until the end of his term. It would be a massive waste of time to bring a planetary leader to court, only to punish him for vandalism. It would probably be below the dignity of anyone here.
He turned to look at Defender.
“You were a Knight? That’s amazing! When was that?”
“Many centuries ago, my friend,” Defender replied, hiding his excitement behind a serious intonation. “You should probably save your questions until the Knight-Commander finishes his questioning.”
Razor approaches the stall, the various pieces of equipment sparking her curiosity into overdrive.
“What is this equipment that you’re selling? It looks quite out of the ordinary.”
Her optics move over the collection of red and black devices, their ominous appearance only arousing her interest further.
Kitais eyes snap to attention, alight with bitter fury, focused on Ironclad.
“Listen here! You had plenty of opportunities to be there when all of this went down.
But you weren’t. You decided that, despite the enormous explosion, you would continue doing… whatever it was you would be doing! You could have been there when we left Iacon,you could have been there during the fight, but no.
And furthermore, whats with the dirty looks?! It’s our fault that we haven’t been in this situation before? You people are the ones who have been in these kinds of problems before, AS YOU HAVE SAID YOURSELF!”
“AND FURTHERMORE!” Kitai exploded, “If you have been so dependable, WHY THE BLAZES weren’t one of you there?!”
“Calm yourself, Kitai! You are overstepping your authority here,” Defender exclaims, stepping towards the massive Cybertronian-Quintesson hybrid. “It is not your place to accuse—“
Optimus Prime walks up to Ironclad and puts a hand on his shoulder- somehow, the hologram touches the Knight-Commander’s armor, and there is a quiet clanking noise as if Optimus’s hand has reached across space through the image.
“A Knight should know best of all that Primes are not infallible,” Optimus says to Ironclad, “but that they will always strive to learn from their mistakes.”
“Well, with one exception, of course,” Downburst mutters to herself- Nova Prime would always be a sore spot for members of the Angelicon Order.
Ironclad is about to speak, but then Kitai sees fit to rip into him for his conduct at the battle at the Hall of Records-
Ironclad glares at Kitai, his eyes narrowing beneath his visor. The other colony leaders watch him and his accuser in shocked silence.
“The Knights stationed in Iacon were protecting the civilians around the Hall of Records, and conferring with the city’s law enforcement to begin hostage negotiations with the enemy- before that possibility was… lost,” Ironclad tells Kitai. His expression then softens.
“However, I suppose what’s done, is done,” he continues. Speaking to our heroes as a group now, he says: “I must trust that you truly will conduct yourselves with greater care going forward. My other concern remains, however.”
“As does mine,” Chancellor Patel says. “Is there truly nothing more you can tell us about what you have learned today- about our enemy, or what he’s after?”
If it’s security that Maximus seeks, then he and Honeycomb will eventually come to a boxy old freighter docked at the port’s perimeter. Though its black paint is faded and worn in many places, and its hull is blemished with dents and burns, there are missile batteries affixed to its sides, and a large turret mounted behind the vessel’s cockpit.
The ship’s cargo bay is open, and leaning against one of the hydraulic arms of the gangplank is a brown-and-red cybertronian with sheets of flexible metallic alloy around his torso and legs, giving the appearance of a man in a longcoat. The top of his head is shaped like a wide-brimmed hat, and a pair of pistols are secured to magnetic holsters on his thighs.
He stands up as he sees Maximus approach. “Well, I’ll be a scraplet’s lunch,” he swears, a twang in his speech that some humans might associate with the old American southwest. He steps forward and offers a hand in greeting. “It ain’t everyday I catch the eye of a Relic Hunter. To what do I owe the pleasure, sir?”
“Ah, those!” the nebulon says, following Razor’s gaze. Like many nebulons, his skin is dark green, and he has short silver hair. There are half-circle-shaped indentations in the skin below his bright blue eyes- signs of cybernetic enhancements of some kind.
“These here are bits of old quintesson tech,” he says, picking up one piece. It’s shaped vaguely evokes the image of a wolf’s skull, and there are many gaps in its form suggesting that there are quiet a few pieces missing from this machine. “Those five-faced freaks left a lotta junk lying 'round the galaxy during the Quintesson Wars. It’s all cactus, I’m afraid- inoperable, irreparable- but still worth fair sum to collectors.”
“How much would you take for them? They certainly would be interesting to investigate,” Razor asks.
As she speaks, she peers closer at the wolf’s-head device, obviously excited about it.
“As far as our enemy is concerned, I’ve shared everything I know. Whoever this Gabrial is, they take excellent care to cover their tracks. And I barely know anything more about what they’re looking for. The only information that I have is that it’s dangerous, and where to find the next clue in either locating it or discovering what it is.” Axis replied.
While the old frame, worn paint, and copious dents and burns might turn most away from the freighter, they only served to endeer it to the predacon. Such wear and tear meant that it had been through a lot. More importantly that it had survived a lot. The way he saw it, you wouldn’t want to put all your trust in a warrior with clean armor. That meant that they either never found themselves in danger, or avoided it outright. A warrior covered in scars and burns, those are the ones you trust. Because that meant something tried and failed to kill them. The more scars, the better.
Maximus smiled and happily returned the gesture, shaking the man’s hand. “My friend and I are looking for a ship to take us to Eukaris. I have some political business to attend to, and she has some friends to visit. This wonderful looking rig you have here seems like it’d be perfect for the job.”
The machine very well could have been the skull of some quintesson war beast in ages past- though the resemblance could just as easily be an eerie coincidence. Spiral patterns are etched into the black metal.
The nebulon man names his price for the full set of quintesson salvage- the lot will set Razor back by quite a hefty sum, but she could buy the pieces if she so desired.
“Aw, thanks,” the man says with a bashful laugh. "She ain’t much of a sight, I know, but she’ll get you where you wanna go.
“Name’s Quickdraw,” he introduces himself. “My first mate’s tinkerin’ with the engines right now, but he’ll finish up in a bit. How’s about I show y’all 'round in the meantime?”
Rampart of Bellator steps forward. “And where is the artifact located?” she asks the group (@DuneToa@MakutaOisli@MaxinePrimal). “I can dispatch a squad of soldiers there immediately to secure it.”
“Oh! My name’s Honeycomb by the way.” The insecticon interjected, having forgotten to introduce herself sooner.
“While the offer is appreciated, that is unfortunately a piece of information I’m not yet willing to share. I assure you my new team and I will be perfectly capable of securing the… whatever it is, on our own.” Axis replied.
“I’ll take them, then,” she says, ignoring the fact that the price tag is larger than that of her whole laboratory. She extends her left arm, and a device very similar to the chip from a debit card extends from her arm. She pays, and begins bundling up the various pieces of equipment.
Meanwhile, at the Convocation…
“As the bearer of Vector’s Journal, perhaps you should show everyone the last entry?”
Defender looks questioningly at Axis Prime, then back at Rampart.
“The last entry is a riddle, along with some symbols that President Patel may be able to identify for us. I assume them to be a human device, since the writing matches your script.”
“Howdy,” Quickdraw says to Honeycomb, putting a hand to the brim of his “hat” and nodding his head slightly. “If y’all will come with me, our tour begins now.”
The man walks into his ship’s cargo bay: it’s mostly empty, save for a modest stack of energon cubes and some miscellaneous boxes. “Hold’s free if you wanna strut about during the trip, but don’t open nothin’,” Quickdraw tells the two.
He then points to a door in the far wall. “Engine room’s through that door- off-limits, unless you want to incur the ire of my first mate Avalanche. Upstairs are the living quarters.”
It certainly is possible for Seraphicon to acquire a small rental ship. One particular model is a one-man craft made right here on Cybertron, with a standard array of sensors and emergency beacons. However, it does not have any weapons.
The nebulon man can hardly contain his excitement as he finalizes the transaction and hands over the quintesson tech to Razor.
“A pleasure doing business, mate!” he says to her with a big grin. “I don’t mean to sound too hopeful, but, uh… will that be all you’ll be buying from me today?”
In addition to the wolf-skull-thing, the other pieces of quintesson tech include a black sphere with a bumpy and porous surface, A red crystal orb inside a claw-like apparatus, and a diamond-shaped machine with small holes punched into some of its sides. Much like the skull, they are all inert, and their function is not easily discernable.
The Knights of Cybertron guarding the Primal Basilica let Firestorm in without incident.
“The Prime is currently in conference, sir,” one says to the Headmaster. “However, I am sure that she would not mind your interruption.”
“As you wish, Prime,” Rampart says with a nod. Her face betrays no emotion.
Chancellor Patel had drawn inward since she’d spoken last, crossing her arms and surveying the banter between Ironclad, Defender, and Kitai with a frown. Now, however, her eyes widen with intrigue.
“A riddle written in human script?” she says. “I’ll do what I can to help decipher it, if you’ll let me have a look.”
“Why would Sentinel be writing in a human language?” Bootleg wonders aloud.
“Another means of obscuring his secret, I’m sure,” Chancellor Chaplain replies, speaking now for the first time. “No doubt most Decepticons would have been unfamiliar with human culture, given their xenophobia.”
“I’m afraid that that’s all for today,” Razor says, “but if I’m ever in the area I’ll come see what else you have!”
She leaves with the tech, searching for somewhere she can store the equipment until the others return.
Axis gave an irritated expression towards Defender. This definitely fell under excess information that she didn’t want to share. But there’s no point in hiding that particular note now. For better or for worse.
“We’ve already had a human interpret the message. ‘The Sentinel’s watch is not yet ended’ if I remember correctly. I believe the purpose of the riddle has already been found when we were in the Tomb of The Primes. But I suppose it could have further meaning.”
Maximus looked around at the modest space around them.
“Seems nice so far. Nothing to big or fancy. I like it.”
OOC: You don’t need to worry about inventory space or anything like that. It’d be fine to say that Razor can stuff all that quintesson tech in a pocket dimension or whatever. That kind of tech is pretty widespread in this universe.
IC:
Fortunately, there is a rental ship large enough to carry the party to Astrum: a transport made right here on Cybertron, consisting of four rotating engines around a square-shaped main body, with the vessel’s cockpit perched atop it. Though much smaller and less extravagant than the Pulsar, it can still carry the party to Astrum comfortably.
“At top speed, six hours,” Quickdraw tells Honeycomb. “Maybe five, if Avalanche is willing to work some magic. That gonna be a problem?”
The guard nods. “Of course,” he says. “I will inform them of your coming.”
“Well, the wordplay is certainly obvious,” Chancellor Patel remarks.
“Yeah,” Bootleg says with a chuckle. “The Thirteen put a little more effort into their cryptic riddles.”
“You said there were symbols along with the riddle?” Nirali says to Defender (@DuneToa). “May I see them?”
“Firestorm’s arrived at the Basilica, Axis,” Downburst quietly tells the Prime, reading a message on her datapad. He’s on his way up here now."