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Chapter Text

“Have you ever seen a Nyonese?”

Drift didn’t answer the question until he’d finished securing his supply of energon in the tiny cargo hold of his skiff. A quick glance over his shoulder told him he was dealing with some tourist fresh from a showroom floor in Iacon. A sleek looking racer with a teal paint job that glittered beautifully in the late morning sun, with a bright smile and pale yellow optics that twinkled with anticipation. Another glance told him that the same was true of the rest of the tour group. Ah, the catch of the day.

He straightened with a theatrical groan, stretching his arms above his helm. “Oh, lots of times. It’s all about the approach, you know. Gotta be quiet. Gotta be attuned.” He tapped the gently humming crystal hanging from a chain around his neck and leaned towards the racer, dropping his voice to a confidential murmur. “Given to me by an actual Nyonese shaman,” he said, taking her hand and wrapping it around the crystal so she could feel the way it vibrated. “Taken from the High Temple. Feel that?”

She nodded, yellow optics wide and focused entirely on the crystal in her hand. “Oh. That’s-”

“I know. Something real special.” Slowly, Drift pulled the chain over his helm. “You know, my people say that something like this really should be passed along, when the time is right.”

The racer’s other hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, I couldn’t- you need this to attract the mers, don’t you?”

“If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be, and I can feel it in my spark.” Drift secured the chain around her neck, letting the crystal settle on her chassis.

The racer reached for her credit chip, almost fumbling it off the mounting on her arm. “No, wait-”

The transfer of shanix only took a few moments, and the racer bounced off to show her companions her new bauble, delighted to be able to claim a relic of long drowned Nyon. Drift turned away, finishing his prep for the launch. Fuel rationed needed to be properly stowed, hull inspection finished, transponders tested. No one wanted to find themselves in the middle of the Great Zeta Sea with no way to signal for help. Even a flight frame could find themselves lost over the vast expanse of water and its strange magnetic fields.

Drift did another quick headcount. It was a good haul – operating costs of the Lost Light would be more than covered, and his nest egg padded.

It took a bit of prodding to get the tour underway. Iacon mechs used to schedules bowing to their whims rarely bothered about being on time. That, Drift thought as he watched Cybertron’s sun climb the vault of the sky, was just fine with him. Let them work up a nice, healthy appetite.

The last thing to be secured was the tour group’s personal rations, high grade fuels they’d brought with them all the way from Iacon, but once the travel chest was secured to the stern, they were finally under way. Before long, the port of New Nyon was nothing more than a distant, glittering speck on the horizon. Soon, it wasn’t even that.

“Do we really have to go so far out?” one mech asked nervously, optics scanning for some sign of solid ground. Some kind of tank, Drift thought. He’d sink straight to the bottom if he fell out.

“The Nyonese don’t come within sight of shore,” Drift explained. “They enjoy their privacy.”

The irony went right over the tank’s helm, but Drift thought he heard a white and teal convoy leaning against the railing chuckle.

The sun beat down relentlessly by the time Drift cut the engine, explaining that the mermech of Nyon weren’t about to approach a moving boat. They were, at least, able to entertain themselves with conversation. It was all about waiting for the perfect moment.

The mech who’d laughed was reaching for the chest of energon when he saw a scarlet hand emerge from the still waters, grabbing ahold of the stern. The largest pair of blue optics locked with his for a moment, water rolling off smooth, sleek armor.

“oh.”

Drift’s helm shot up at that gasp, but otherwise he held perfectly still as he watched the scene unfold. No one else had noticed yet.

Three… two…

Someone turned and let out a surprised honk, and the mermech’s claws sliced through the straps that secured the chest of energon to the deck. The chest hit the water with a splash, followed by the quieter sound of the mermech diving after, sending up a spray of water that soaked the convoy.

The tour group flocked to the rails, desperate for a second glimpse of one of the elusive Nyonese.

And Drift waited.

Mermech hunting was thirsty work.

Soon they would realize.

Soon they would ask.

Drift reached into the hold and fished out a sealed cube. It was cold to the touch, and it made a delightful hissing sound when he cracked open the seal, and it was so refreshing going down. When Drift looked up, he found several sets of optics on him, and he smiled.

The sun was starting to sink below the horizon by the time Drift finished inspecting the Lost Light before docking for the night. There wasn’t a drop of energon left in the hold, and the sight of it brought a small smile to his face. His HUD showed a healthy bank balance – much healthier than it had been before he’d set out that morning.

He heard Rodimus coming well before he surfaced, pushing the flotsam around the dock about like a sparkling kicking a can down the street.

“You should rope in more of those rubes,” Rodimus announced, hauling himself up onto the dock with a grunt. The broad edge of his tail stirred the water with every slow swing, and his biolights pulsed lazily red and gold. “I like their energon. It’s tingly.”

Drift’’s smile got a little bigger, and he plopped down on the edge of the dock next to Rodimus. “Keep up the act and you’ll be drowning in high grade.”

Rodimus reached into his subspace, fishing a crystal out and dropping it into Drift’s hands. “Should get me a… watchyacallit… a still. With my share.”

“Thought you were saving up for something important?” Drift teased as he set up the shanix transfer. “I remember hearing an awful lot of big plans.”

Rodimus turned his face to the darkening sky, watching the stars as they winks into view. “The biggest.”

Chapter Text

Thunderclash had left the video of the Nyonese mermech on loop in the background as he went over the proposed crew list for what felt like the thousandth time. “Anything yet?”

Paddox didn’t look up from the ancient topography maps in front of him, and his engine growled in a gentle warning. “You’ll know before I do. Your name’s the one on the application. You’re the one who’s friends with the Prime.”

It wasn’t the first time they’d had that conversation that day, and at the rate things were going, it wouldn’t be the last.

Paddox glanced at the looping video – again, not for the first time. “Velocity get anything out of that crystal yet?” He didn’t bother to hide the edge of disdain in his tone – he’d dismissed it as a cheap bauble from the moment Velocity had shown it to them.

Thunderclash raised a shoulder in a half shrug. “She’s running tests on it between tweaking the mods for dealing with the depths. Anyway, I think we’ll get more information from the sailor… and I bet he’ll have another of those rocks by the time we go back.”

Paddox snorted. “More like a dozen. You think he might be Nyonese?”

That got another half shrug from Thunderclash. “His history’s spotty, but he can be traced back to Iacon. Came up out of Dead End before washing up here. No, whatever his connection to Nyon, it’s not that.”

Paddox opened his mouth to say something more, but Thunderclash held up a hand for silence, pointing to his audial.

“Them?” Paddox asked, his voice dropping into an excited whisper, and Thunderclash nodded before turning away to take the call.

Paddox found himself bouncing on his pedes, waiting with growing impatience for something. Had they wasted the last solar cycle, or-?

Thunderclash turned around with a whoop of joy, picking Paddox up and spinning him around. “We got the firmin! Call everyone! We’re going to Nyon!”

Chapter Text

Rodimus wasn’t able to get back to the surface and in range of Drift’s comm link until after nightfall, in spite of the clear urgency of the pings that had been coming in once an hour since mid-day. The rusty old priest who was the nearest thing to a leader that Nyon had was in a stormy mood, and had insisted on railing at his chosen apprentices on the dangers of cavorting with the decadent corrupt mechs of the surface.

There had been a lot of pointed looks, but Rodimus shrugged it off. Nyon’s energon stores were perpetually low, and access to the reservoir beneath with city was difficult and dangerous, with all of the equipment used to extract it falling apart from centuries of use in an environment they’d never been designed for. He was bringing down much needed fuel and supplies, and soon-

::Do not come near the docks. Meet me at the Old Widdershins Gate.::

Rodimus stayed low to the surface, letting his HUD drop over his optics, scanning the horizon.

“... huh.” He’d never seen the docks so active before.

Can I use this?

Lots of mechs meant lots of fuel and equipment that could be brought down, stripped for parts and use for much needed repairs. There might even be some new mining equipment proper…

Primus below, if they could get proper mining going again…

Rodimus dipped below the waterline, turning towards the Widdershins Gate, one of the last remnants of old drown Nyon left on the surface. It was a good place to meet when the docks were crowded – the surface walkers thought it was haunted by the souls of the mechs Zeta Prime had slaughtered when they’d tried to flee drowning Nyon.

And it wasn’t all that hard to make a crumbling ruin extra spooky – not when the frames of Zeta Prime’s victims had been hung from the great archway until Zeta himself had been assassinated, and what was left of the bodies cut down. That sort of thing, Rodimus felt, left a mark on a place, and he and Drift only had to occasionally put their hand in to enhance that. It was almost even fun – just like spooking the tourists in the boat.

Drift was waiting for him at the water’s edge, but his optics were turned towards the docks, his sword drawn and laid across his knees. Rodimus pulled himself up onto the ledge that was all that remained of the highway, watching the water roll off his tail. “Nothing good?”

Drift grunted, hand tight around the hilt of his sword. “The Prime approved an expedition. Into Nyon.”

“No.”

“They’ve got three boats. A whole team. With guards.”

Looters were nothing new to drowned Nyon, seeking treasures in ones and twos. Few of them ever made it back to the surface, but those lost beneath the waters were unmissed mechs, poor wanderers who’s ends served as little more than a vague warning to other treasure hunters. You will find nothing here but your death.

But an expedition backed by the Prime--

“Why?”

Drift shrugged. “Expedition leader’s some big mech in Iacon. An adventurer.”

Rodimus made a rude noise. “Sounds like an idiot.”

Drift grunted again, looking into the water like he might pull a solution from the depths. “Can you evacuate?” he asked.

Rodimus considered the question before shaking his helm. “Metalhawk might give the order, but you know how people are. Nobody’s gonna believe that they’ll make it to the city.” Between the kraken, the feral sharkticons, and the traps, Nyon’s pod should be safe. Was safe.

From anything but a full expedition.

Maybe they’d have enough time to hide if the surface walkers got too close.

Maybe they’d be able to make Nyon look boring and they’d just go away.

Maybe.