Origins: Duskwalker
Call
On a war-torn planet the sunrise could still be beautiful. Debris and broken buildings once foreboding at night, erupted into a sparkling array of light; glinting and reflecting in a myriad of colors. A new quiet brought with the dawn, different from the soft prowling belonging to the denizens of the night, and giving way to the soft awakening of those who walked under the sun.
Such things were no longer sacred. Already in the distance Renegade could hear the battle begin anew. Clouds of smoke, and flashes of blasters. Disgust colored his spark. The fragile frame holding onto life so tightly a grim reminder of what would be left of the planet when they were finished.
Systems rumbling in anger, Renegade tucked himself against the brace once belonging to a suspended highway. The long bridges of road had spanned Cybertron; allowing for multiple layers of traffic to move to and from varying cities. As Cybertron declined, and the Caste System grew stronger, such areas beneath the thoroughfares had become notorious for illicit and illegal trafficking. The irony of his situation now was not lost on him. Smuggling a ‘refugee’ of sorts off the planet. It was not an appropriate moment to smile, but one tugged at the edge of his lips regardless.
He’d felt no movement. The frame remained still and quiet, sheltered against the thick plating of his chest. When the urge to check once more on its status overrode his common sense and Renegade pulled his hand away from his chest, gold optics looked up at him from the dark. If there was pain there he was uncertain. There had been no communication attempts. Renegade himself remained silent. It would not do to attract attention, now with Naomi so close.
His uplink to the ship came online. Systems syncing. He could monitor Naomi’s feeds now. She was only a few klicks out. The landing space he’d designated wasn’t perfect. Chunks of old thoroughfare made landing impossible, but Naomi did not need to land for Renegade to board.
On her approach Naomi rotated in the air, opening the cargo bay doors. Her hull was unpainted, a dull gray that was nevertheless space worthy. Neither a battle cruiser, nor a freighter, but something in between. Thick armor, dedicated weaponry, and advanced engines. Naomi would see them safely up and through the atmosphere and away from the dying planet. Renegade would be able to finish his work on her once they’d reached a safe haven.
Renegade stepped out from his precarious shelter. With Naomi incapable of landing, his boarding would necessitate a running start.
With long efficient strides, Renegade ran towards a portion of roadway that protruded from the various debris. Each step crushed metal beneath him until he reached that point. With a thrust of powerful hydraulics Renegade jumped into the air. It was a little too much and Naomi had to tip to compensate for his unintended height.
Catching the lip of the door, Renegade pulled himself from the brink where he balanced on only a portion of his feet. The hum of Naomi’s engines deepening with his arrival, like the ship was welcoming him to his – their – new home.
The cargo hold was the only portion of the ship that consisted of two floors; larger containers could be stored below, accessed via an elevator to Renegade’s right. The primary floor served as a host to smaller containers consisting of parts, inventions he was bringing with him from Cybertron, and some refined materials. Below hosted the primary energon storage, and larger materials that had yet to be refined. A single door lead into a combination hab suite, medical bay, and workspace.
It was here that Naomi’s currently ‘modest’ exterior gave way to extravagant. Every piece of machinery custom built. Multiple databases filled with as much information Renegade could squander away from the Grid over a prolonged period of time, an extensive medical suite, three berths, all capable of collapsing into the floor, with wings on all four sides to extend and make them larger. Every surface shined in sanitary glory. Renegade had not occupied the room before today, so it had seen no use.
Gravity pulled at his frame only lightly as Naomi climbed through the upper atmosphere. One of the berths ascended smoothly from the floor up to waist height as he approached. Massive hands carefully setting the broken frame onto the glistening metal. It looked wrong for so much damage to exist on a spotless surface. In his minds eye Renegade could easily imagine the dismantled metal limbs, energon, oils, and lubricants coating the surface of the berth, but aside from the lessening trickle from a superficial scraplet bite, the frame lay as though separate from the reality around it.
A subtle thrum ran through the ship, artificial gravity engaging as Naomi broke through and into greater space.
“Naomi, alert me once we’re outside scanning range with Cybertron,” Renegade ordered, prepping life support systems. Sensory receptors would be simple to connect, but a supportive energon line? Renegade frowned. Under the glaring medical lights, the frame looked more patched together than it had initially. The safest, and only, location to hook the energon line up to would be in the neck cabling. Everything else was coated in corrosive acid and compacted with rusted scrap metal.
It wasn’t easy, wiping and cleaning away the oil-laced acid from the cabling. If he thought it was safe Renegade would have carried the remains of the frame in with him to the decontamination shower. Unfortunately, the possibility existed that the solvents would loosen whatever was keeping its energon lines sealed. If they fell loose, the frame would bleed out quickly, and the spark would be extinguished.
No sound of distress, flinch, or other note of recognition came from the frame as Renegade inserted the needle. Its optics continued to watch him in a manner he would almost consider ‘glazed’. Whoever they were, they were not following his motions as closely as he would have liked. He wasn’t a medic to make such diagnosis, but he worried about processor damage.
Renegade wiped his hands on a spare rag, carefully removing what he could and wiping down his chest plating. He would need to step into the decontamination shower as soon as he had done what he could for the meantime. There was little he could do if an infection onset in his system.
“We have exited Cybertronian space.”
“Thank you, Naomi.” Renegade said, looking down one more time at the frame and frowning. It was still watching him, but in a way that made him feel as though it was looking through him, or past him. It couldn’t seem capable of focusing on anything.
He checked the readings on the life support equipment one more time before stepping away towards the computer terminal. Digits drifted across the keys, inputting several frequencies. Once keyed in Renegade looked up at his work, frowned, and keyed in another set of encryptions over top of those he’d already programmed. He wanted one specific person to answer his call. Renegade trusted no one else with the work that had to be done.
Finished, he queued up the comm link and said:
“’Amongst the foothills in withering sleep, arise the old soon to reap. On boundless change will estrange those who favor entropy.’”
A strange phrase. Bad poetry perhaps? Or some bit of doggerel verse? It was purposefully designed to give nothing away that wasn’t already apparent to the receiving party. Renegade had given such phrases, and counter phrases, to the few friends he possessed as they left the planet. It ensured they could contact one another safely should they require each other’s assistance. With the phrases each were given a series of frequencies, transponders, and receivers. One of Renegade’s most recent designs built to operate despite the distance between planets and galaxies.
Once, long ago, Cybertronians moved among the stars, visiting planets and creating colony worlds. Now, it seemed, they would return to such wanderings, though not under preferred circumstances.
“The old hoarder finally realized the planet was falling apart.” Renegade had scarcely begun setting up the scanning equipment when an acerbic voice assaulted him. Looking up at the primary screen, his gaze landed on a green and gray Seeker.
Aero was not so much as glancing at the screen that displayed Renegade, however. His focus was entirely on the piece of machinery in front of him. Par to the course, he was in his workshop. Much like Renegade, Aero was an individual who was happiest when he had his hands deep into some project. The frown on the seeker’s lips was an almost constant companion for Aero. As were his brusque mannerisms. Aero had little time for those who used their processors, and no time for those who didn’t. Renegade, however, had been a long-time friend.
A scientist who contrarily worked in both weapons manufacturing and cyberbiology, and a brilliant mind, Aero was – in Renegade’s opinion – a little obsessed with the creation of artificial sparks.
“I hope you haven’t called just to tell me you’ve finally come to your senses,” Aero accused him. It had been a matter of some debate between himself and Aero when Renegade chose to remain on Cybertron instead of accompanying Aero when he’d left. Renegade was certain his decision had been right. His goal had been to collect as much information from the Grid; specifically, from the science and medical institutions, though he did not hesitate to sequester any information he could download. Information, regardless of what it was, could be of some use in the future.
Aero’s counter argument had been that Renegade’s collection was already massive. How much data could one mech need? Eventually they agreed to disagree and Aero had accepted the communications array Renegade had given him. Not without a jibe, of course, on how Renegade was a hoarder. The phrase had been inspired by Aero’s accusations.
Instead of answering Aero’s obviously irritated tone, Renegade opened a secondary feed that displayed the medical berth and the frame laying upon it.
“I found this frame shortly before leaving the planet,” Renegade explained. Aero’s gazed has sharpened instantaneously and his focus was absolute. Without waiting for his request, Renegade uploaded the initial scans he’d preformed and he could see Aero’s habitual frown turn into one that bespoke concern. Try as he might, Aero had a caring spark. It was only his absolute distaste for idiots that kept hit hidden. “As you can see, it’s in critical condition. I can rebuild what’s missing, but I do not have the expertise to keep the spark stable.”
“Has the chamber casing been breached?” Aero asked, his annoyance at Renegade forgotten in the face of an emergency.
“I don’t know,” was Renegade’s answer, and his own timbre deepened.
“You need to check,” Aero lectured, “if the chamber is breached, you’re going to have to provide the necessary support.”
Renegade nodded; lips drawn in a grim frown. Without closing the communication’s link, he initiated a deep scan and streamed the results as they appeared live to Aero. Much of the scan was distorted, warped, but some information came trickling through eventually.
“There’s too much scrap metal surrounding the chest cavity,” Renegade explained as Aero’s systems growled with annoyance.
“Perhaps,” Aero murmured, examining the readouts before him, “but it appears these small portions here – ” his own feed flickered, showing Renegade what he was looking at “ – are almost, but not exactly, fused to the exterior of the spark chamber. Would it be possible to get a better reading?”
“Not currently,” Renegade paused and then added: “Not without removing the rusted debris from its form, but to do that I would need a second set of hands. I don’t know what’s kept it from bleeding out, but if I were to remove the wrong piece without a set of clamps handy it would deactivate before I can find a medic.”
“I’m sending you my coordinates,” Aero’s reply was swift, “I’ve found a settlement, an organic village, on a planet the locals call Altera. I’ll be waiting for you with the necessary materials.”
The coordinates came quickly, and were immediately uploaded into the navigation’s system. Renegade allowed some of the tension to release from his frame. Venting the air that had been cycling his system for far too long.
“Thank you,” he said, meaning it, “once I engage the subluminal drives communications will be spotty,” Renegade felt it necessary to warn Aero, but to also indicate that if something happened he would be unable to inform the seeker until they arrived. “I will see you planet-side.”
“Understood. And Renegade? Do not move the frame more than strictly necessary. It’s a miracle its spark didn’t extinguish when you disturbed it on Cybertron. Any further stress and it likely will not make the journey.”
With a simple nod of his helm, Renegade stepped forward, cut the transmission, and turned to look at the broken thing that lay on the berth.
“Naomi, engage the subluminal drives,” Renegade ordered and ignored the empty acknowledgement he received.
He was now left alone. Alone with his thoughts, a partially formed A.I., and a spark teetering on the edge of the void.
It would be best, he thought, to take the decontamination shower now before he broke something in his anger. He did not know who this was, he did not know what they were, but his spark stirred and his systems itched to find the responsible party to offer them a fitting punishment.