Approach
Duskwalker returns to Cybertron, but before continuing down to the planet she speaks with Naomi, her on-board AI, about the planet they’re returning ‘home’ to.
“Duskwalker, is something the matter?” Naomi, the on-board AI, asked in a worried tone. The AI had long ago developed her own personality, concerns, and habits of behaving more like a creator unit to Duskwalker than an artificial intelligence; it made Duskwalker smile despite the gnawing sense of unease in her spark.
“Naw,” she said, pulling her legs up onto the oversized captain's chair. It was much, much too big for her, sized for Renegade who often stood chest and shoulders above other mechs. Considering she was only, roughly, four meters tall or fourteen feet she looked like a child sitting in an adult's chair. It allowed her to curl her legs around and wrap her tail over top of them so the tip dangled off the edge of the green colored chair. Everything about the ship was a deep green, a color that Renegade seemed to have an obsession with considering it was the same color as his chassis. Of course he was also rather clever; anyone invading the ship would therefore have a difficult time making him out from the rest of the ship.
“You do not seem as though nothing is the matter,” Naomi chided, concerned, “You have not moved the ship away from Cybertron's moon for some hours now. Have you changed your mind? You know Renegade would welcome you back to the colony with open arms and look to the ends of the universe for the best medical instructor for you.”
“No, I haven't changed my mind and I know he would; I don't know that there isn't anything Renegade would do for me, and I appreciate that. It's also the reason I want to make him proud and do this on my own,” Duskwalker leaned back and wrapped her arms around her abdomen, her tail tip twitching as she studied the planet on the view screen in front of her.
“Renegade is already proud of you,” Naomi reminded her and Duskwalker smiled, leaning her helm back and closing her optics. Even though she knew he was hearing someone say it warmed Duskwalker's spark. “But I understand what you mean, I too wish to make my creator proud and I will do that by ensuring you are happy and healthy wherever you choose to roam. I will always stand by your side, Duskwalker,” and Naomi had for so long. To every battle field Duskwalker visited, with all the wounded she helped to transport to safe havens, and the supplies she brought to ailing colonies. Even when Duskwalker insisted they help the last survivors of an organic race that had nearly been wiped out on one of the planets her people had fought for energon on. Naomi had been there for her and Renegade had always been waiting for her to return home.
“It looks fragile doesn't it?” Duskwalker asked, opening her optics and changing the subject.
“Cybertron?”
“Yes,” Duskwalker agreed, watching the planet as it hung floating in space. So many worlds had been described as blue, green, or red jewels floating in space due to their atmosphere, but Cybertron looked like a world like no other. Metal, glowing with energon and life, and tall spires gracing portions of it, but it also looked ready to crumble at any moment. There were areas that were still entirely dark despite the fact the planet was once more living. It made Duskwalker sad, but also determined, and afraid all at the same time. It was really a rather confusing mixture.
“Do you really think it can be brought all the way back?” Duskwalker asked Naomi, concern lacing through her words.
“'Anything can be done, so long as you don't give up and have the will to do it' I believe you once said, Duskwalker,” Naomi told her and Duskwalker's optics, and biolights, lit up brighter in embarrassment. Really what was she doing tossing out fragged-up lines like that? Of course she had been speaking to a mech who was certain he was going to deactivate and, once he had, would never join with the Well of All Sparks due to it being long dark. She was no councilor, but she could not let the mech despair. Duskwalker wanted to be a medic and therefore she had to learn how to heal all aspects of a Cybertronian. From mind, to body, to spark, she wanted to learn it all and that was why she'd come here to Cybertron. She was hoping to find the teacher she needed; she had heard the medic Ratchet had returned to the planet and at his side the Decepticon medic who'd tended to Lord Megatron. What better teachers could she ask for than the ones who saw to the health and well being of the leaders of each faction? Even if they were unable to teach her Duskwalker felt it was important to finally learn what Cybertron looked like, to see where her people came from. She'd only been on the planet for so short a time after emergence from the Well.
With a sigh Duskwalker leaned her head on her hand, fanning her fingers out over her forehead, and puffed air out of her vents; trying to remember everything she could about the edge of the Well, but there was so little she could picture. A glowing brilliance, shining metal, and then that was it. No sensations, no real emotions, just empty blackness.
“What is it that makes you hesitate then?”
“The idea I might be... disappointed,” Duskwalker admitted finally, “I've seen so many planets now, filled with life and so many cultures, what if in comparison I find Cybertron lacking? It's supposed to be our home, shouldn't I be feeling something other then worry over disappointment? I mean... I don't even know what it is to be homesick. I've always lived on this ship, or with Renegade at the colony, I've never not had a home and in comparison so many Cybertronians have been drifting through space, no where to go, no planet to call their own, and now they have a chance to have their home back after losing it. What if I can't connect with them? What kind of medic will I be if I can't sympathize with that?”
“You don't have to have lost your home to sympathize with someone who has, Duskwalker,” Naomi told her, “you have a gentle, loving, spark. One I worry about being hurt all the time whenever you extend your hand in kindness. Your help hasn't always been welcomed, you've been attacked for it, but you always keep moving forward as though it doesn't matter others have rejected or hated you for it. I don't think you will have difficulty connecting with your own people, not when you have such concern for them and their happiness.”
“Naomi you make me sound like a sentimental idiot,” Duskwalker complained.
“Better a sentimental idiot than a cruel genius,” Naomi pointed out.
“But sentimental idiots are normally manipulated by cruel geniuses and end up hurting people,” Duskwalker said with distaste.
“Well then it is a good thing you are not an idiot. Perhaps a little too trusting, too willing to give second chances, but I don't think you would be tricked into hurting someone,” Naomi reassured her. Duskwalker nodded in half-sparked agreement. Still she wasn't sure she much cared for the description Naomi had given of her. Duskwalker wasn't some kind of Saint, she was just a medic or she wanted to be a medic; she had yet to earn her seal, her sigil. Sure she had a dream, an ambition, to prove you didn't have to be someone of significance, or a Prime, to make a difference in the world around you, but she'd never let that dream bring harm to someone else even if it meant Duskwalker had to give it up.
“M'sorry, I should just have us move on to Renegade's workshop... have you been able to pick up on it? Is it still functioning?”
“Yes. I've scanned the area and the doors should open upon my approach. I can remain hidden there while you go out and about, exploring, before you decide to go speak to the Autobots.”
“You know me too well,” Duskwalker said wryly. She hadn't planned on going to the Autobots first up, she wanted to have a look around the planet and learn a little bit about her own people's home before she tried to integrate herself with it. She still couldn't decide where to explore first; Iacon, Crystal City, or Vos, three places she'd had described to her in such detail she could picture them in her mind. Would the ruins measure up to her expectations of how grand these three cities had been?
“Yes, but I hope you will be careful. Cybertron may have been dark for a long time, but there are still creatures on the surface that would be all too willing to have you as a snack,” Naomi reminded her, “also we do not know that the Decepticons and Autobots have stopped fighting all together. If a battle breaks out I expect you to find cover, furthermore you remember which mechs you must avoid at all costs?”
“Yes,” Duskwalker said, smiling, “Renengade had me sit and stare at their images for hours when I first told him I wanted to go out and act as field medic.”
“Good,” Naomi said, “because we cannot be certain they have not returned to Cybertron,” Duskwalker flicked her tail admittedly a little nervous at the idea. She wasn't defenseless, but she specialized in close-ranged combat only. Her primary strategy was to knock the opposing mech off balance and, if she could, knock them unconscious with her batons or connected staff and run away. If she was caught at long distance she was to use her surroundings to fade away. Her matte paint in dark browns was meant to help swallow any light shining down on her and she could close off her biolights to hide herself. That she was so small played to her advantage as she could wiggle her way into smaller spaces and better hide herself.
“So,” Naomi continued, “shall we move on?”
“Yes,” Duskwalker said, straightening herself up and moving to the edge of the chair, “engines ahead full, landing coordinates set...” she hesitated and then, with an odd sense of joy in her spark she hadn't thought to experience, she said:
“Let's go home.”