Chapter Text
It was all but buried in a crater when they found it, empty and derelict, the only initial indication of its presence the very faint signature reminiscent of spent energon pinging the sensors.
“There, right there, that’s something,” Rodimus said, hanging over the back of Sunstreaker’s chair, all but smacking his subordinate in the face as he pointed at a minute discrepancy on the console in front of them.
Sunstreaker blinked, looked sideways at Rodimus, and blinked again. “It’s, uh,” he said, and then apparently ran out of vocabulary.
“It’s a minor discrepancy,” said Perceptor from across the room, coming to Sunstreaker’s rescue. “A very minor discrepancy.”
“But it’s there. There’s something. There’s a thing.” Rodimus stood upright so quickly that Sunstreaker had to duck to the side to avoid a spoiler to the chin. “We’re going to go look at it.”
Had Ultra Magnus been on the bridge, the Lost Light would most likely not have made a course correction down to investigate an anomalous reading on the dark side of the smallest moon orbiting an unassuming planet itself in orbit around a perfectly normal class II yellow star. The Lost Light’s SiC was the only person on board capable of reining in Rodimus’ enthusiasm for any type of distraction when caught in the throes of boredom, and his absence now meant that Rodimus faced no real opposition.
Then again, had Ultra Magnus been on the bridge, his objections would have had no further basis than “It’s a waste of time,” and the crew of the Lost Light had nothing but time on their hands. (And a brig full of Decepticons, none of whom were currently causing trouble, in part due to rigid supervision on the part of Ultra Magnus.)
As it was, Ultra Magnus arrived to see the approach of the small moon and it was far too late to change Rodimus’ mind.
“What are you doing?” he asked instead, calmly.
“There’s a ship down there,” Rodimus answered, peering at the forward viewscreen. Ultra Magnus followed his gaze.
The outlines of a Cybertronian ship were clearly visible, now that the Lost Light’s sensors had been reset to the appropriate parameters. Graceful even in its disarray, the hull was almost cradled by a massive crater wall, tucked under the lip as if for safekeeping.
“It’s a relic,” Ultra Magnus said, interested despite himself. The Lost Light was currently at loose ends, its only lead of Decepticon activity having yielded no tangible results, and he couldn’t quite blame Rodimus for haring off on a side quest out of sheer frustration. “I don’t recognize the hull,” he added.
“Run it through the database,” Rodimus said.
“We don’t have that kind of information in the database,” Sunstreaker told him.
“Okay, fine, go get Rewind. Oh! And Cyclonus and Tailgate.” Rodimus beamed. “Maybe one of them can identify it before we go take a look. Give us an idea of what to expect.”
“You want to –“ Ultra Magnus started.
“Why not?” Rodimus threw himself into the captain’s chair and tapped his fingers moodily on the arm rest; Ultra Magnus didn’t think he knew he was doing it.
“Are there any survivors?” Ultra Magnus asked, not looking at Rodimus.
“None,” Perceptor answered, mercifully brief.
“So?” Rodimus crossed his arms and started tapping a foot instead. “It’s Cybertronian. We should at least find out who was on board and what happened to them. For posterity. They’re our people, Magnus.”
The problem was that Rodimus wasn’t wrong; while many of Cybertron’s residents had scattered to the four corners of the galaxy to escape the civil war, only a fraction had come back. Even a small piece of their race’s history was worth the time it took to collect it. “I’ll assemble a team,” Ultra Magnus said.
“What? No!” Rodimus sat bolt upright, uncrossing his arms to grip at the chair underneath him. “I’ll go.”
He had the particularly mulish expression that meant that he would not only refuse to listen to reason but more than likely pull Drift into his temporary insanity. Ultra Magnus tried the second-best option. “You and I,” he began.
“You’re needed here,” Rodimus said, eyeing him. “On the very very small totally infinitesimal off chance that something does happen to me over there, or that it’s a trap, or that some random Decepticons are planning an ambush, or…” he paused, running out of scenarios. “Or whatever, then you need to be here to make sure everyone else gets to safety. I trust you to keep the rest of the crew safe.”
Ultra Magnus really hated it when Rodimus pulled the safety card. “At least let me choose your team,” he said.
Rodimus considered for a moment. “Seems fair,” he said. “Ultra Magnus, assemble a small team to accompany me to the Cybertronian ship.”
“Yes, sir,” Ultra Magnus said drily, but Rodimus didn’t smile. He just gave Ultra Magnus a vaguely worried look, which meant he hadn’t quite gotten the joke. The awkward pause lasted until the bridge door slid open to admit Rewind, Tailgate hard on his heels.
“We have a ship!” Rodimus declared, flinging himself out of his chair as eagerly as he’d tossed himself into it.
Rewind blinked, his optics shuttering on and off several times. “Ye-es,” he agreed carefully.
“How is the Lost Light supposed to be news to us if we’ve been on it all this time?” Tailgate muttered to Rewind, not quietly enough to avoid being overheard.
“Not the Lost Light,” Rodimus said impatiently. “There. Look. That one.”
“Ah,” Rewind said. Tailgate stared at it, optics tightly focused.
“Do you recognize it?” Rodimus asked, when neither one of them said anything.
“It’s not the Ark,” Tailgate offered, which got a round of weak chuckles. “No, I don’t,” he said. “I’m sorry. I think it’s from after my time.”
“Eh, worth a shot,” Rodimus said. “Rewind?”
“Just a minute,” Rewind said absently, optics dimmed. “I… don’t have a match in any of my archived footage,” he said what seemed like an interminable length of time later but was only a few minutes. “Or not a definite one, anyway, it could be one of literally hundreds. Maybe thousands. It’s not an uncommon hull design. I think.”
Cyclonus, who had arrived on the bridge during Rewind’s moments of silence, was leaning forward to study the screen. “There are several discrepancies between this hull shape and the common formation it resembles,” he said. “Here, and here.” His pale fingers pointed out several places on the relic’s outlines.
“Like I said,” Rewind repeated, “I don’t have a match.”
“So we’re going in blind,” Rodimus said, and shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Who’s we?” Tailgate asked, glancing from side to side.
“Rodimus,” Ultra Magnus replied. “Atomizer. Perceptor. Sunstreaker. And Whirl.”
“Me?” Sunstreaker asked, turning around abruptly; from his expression, it had been an involuntary vocalization.
“Bring your pet,” Ultra Magnus said. “Its keen sensors may prove to be an advantage.”
“I’m not sure I want Bob in any danger,” Sunstreaker objected, hands tightening on the back of his chair.
“Sunstreaker,” Ultra Magnus said patiently, “Bob is an Insecticon. It’s far less likely to be in danger than any other member of the party.” Particularly since Rodimus is leading the way, he did not say. “Your first priority is to establish an appropriate atmosphere aboard,” he continued. “I don’t need to remind you that long-term exposure to a hard vacuum will eventually force stasis lock.”
“Ah, it’d take hours,” Rodimus said, and then wilted slightly under Ultra Magnus’ glare. “Okay, okay, I know, if we can’t re-establish atmospheric integrity we’ll come back. Happy?”
“Yes,” Ultra Magnus said, and Rodimus gave him another peculiar look. Ultra Magnus decided then and there to give up on his attempts at humor; they clearly weren’t working. “Tell Atomizer to bring his crossbow,” he said, adding it as if it were an afterthought. It wasn’t. Atomizer could do a great deal of damage with his chosen ranged weapon, and his teammates should be agile enough to avoid any friendly fire.
“Streaker, get Atomizer and Whirl and meet me down at the docking bay in five,” Rodimus said, bouncing ever so slightly on his toes. “Perceptor, get whatever equipment you think you might need; I’ll help you carry it down.”
“Aah, you’re trying to get me killed before we get off the ship,” Sunstreaker said.
“Whirl isn’t going to shoot you.” Rodimus grinned. “Come on, guys, we have a ship to investigate! Go! Go!”
Ultra Magnus stifled a sigh as the three members of his chosen team currently on the bridge scattered. It was an empty ship, after all, crash-landed on a moon. “What could possibly go wrong?” he asked rhetorically, clamping down on the automatic mental list of ways the exploration could rapidly go south; the ship looked like it had been broken down for years, centuries, possibly even millennia, and whatever had downed it was most likely long gone.
The trouble with most likely was that it still left room for potentially lethal incidents.
***
“That’s not just a relic,” Perceptor said as they approached. “It’s started to disintegrate.”
A few of the oddities on the curves of the ship’s hull resolved themselves into gaping holes, jagged around the edges. The ship itself was massive, large enough to fit the entirety of the Lost Light into what was clearly the remains of a cargo hold, its entire wall fallen clean away. Bits of debris and dust littered the floor, uneven mounds of bulkhead material lying in heaps where it had crashed to the ground even under the small moon’s relatively low gravity.
“So, what?” Rodimus asked. “It’s older than we thought it was?”
“Both Tailgate and Cyclonus agreed that the design doesn’t match their time or before,” Sunstreaker put in, sounding hesitant. He hadn’t spoken much, aboard the Lost Light, and it was almost a surprise to hear him offer a comment now.
“Neither Tailgate nor Cyclonus are historians,” Perceptor said repressively; it wasn’t a particularly useful comment after all. “Though Rewind did concur, and his historical archives are quite extensive.”
“That’s not a conclusion,” Rodimus complained.
“How much atmosphere do we have out there?” Atomizer asked, adjusting his crossbow. Whirl peered out the side window, uncharacteristically silent, tapping his head against the clear plasteel.
“Atmospheric pressure is…” Perceptor caught Rodimus glaring at him. “Negligible,” he finished smoothly, instead of offering the precise calculations. “Gravity is approximately one fourth Cybertronian standard.”
“Wonderful,” Rodimus said. “Okay, first we see if we can get life support working in there. Then we explore.” He pointed at the cavernous opening of the cargo hold. “Sunstreaker, land in there.”
Sunstreaker piloted the pod through the wall with what looked like practiced ease; Perceptor suspected that he would have been capable of the same, even with his lack of piloting experience, given the amount of space to maneuver. The pod landed, shaking the floor almost imperceptibly, and dust rained from the ceiling.
“That’s just great,” Sunstreaker said, but nothing else collapsed.
“Oh, wonderful,” Whirl said, and he’d been so quiet that Perceptor had almost forgotten he was there. “We’ll pull it all down over our heads.”
“No, we won’t,” Rodimus said. “Everybody out.”
The lack of atmosphere to carry sound waves meant using the inter-Autobot radio to communicate once they were out of the pod. Perceptor made sure the airlock closed properly to maintain the climate inside the shuttle, and then the exterior doors cycled open.
“Lights,” Rodimus said, and everyone with built-in headlights flicked them on. Whirl held an archaic lantern high, looped over one wrist. The cargo bay looked even bigger in the dark, but Rodimus moved confidently toward what looked like some sort of hatch. “There’s an access panel,” he called over his shoulder.
Perceptor picked up his toolkit and jogged closer. The panel was corroded, bits of the surface paint flaking free as he pried it loose. The wiring underneath was no better, but a few drops of solvent cleaned some of the leads enough to slide the door open. Comparatively warm air rushed out in a torrent, pushing Rodimus back. He grabbed the edge of the doorframe, bodily hauling Atomizer, Sunstreaker, and Whirl inside. Perceptor forced his way in as well, with Rodimus coming last. Bob darted in at the last second, and Perceptor tweaked the leads to allow the door to slide shut.
“Did that seem like the ship was trying to keep us out to anyone else?” Whirl said, and was the recipient of the second Rodimus glare.
“That was simply atmospheric pressure normalizing,” Perceptor said. “A full systems check can best be performed on the bridge. If this ship follows Cybertronian standards, it will be this way.” He strode off without waiting either for permission or to see if the others would follow.
“Slag,” he heard Rodimus mutter behind them, and then the rest of his companions caught up. The interior of the ship was even darker than the exterior had been; without ambient starlight, the only illumination came from the small boarding party. Perceptor couldn’t resist pointing his in different directions to get as much information as possible before reaching the bridge, but he saw nothing unusual in the ship’s construction.
The ship’s current condition was another story entirely; the walls were disintegrating as they stood, as were the floors and ceilings. More than once, a weak section nearly gave way. Bob turned out to be an expert on gauging the relative safety of any patch of ground, and it didn’t take long for Rodimus set Sunstreaker on point. Perceptor took the protected center of the group, with Whirl bringing up the rear.
“I should have more eyes for this,” Whirl said, his single optic roving back and forth. He moved perfectly smoothly, though.
“You make up the difference with bloodthirsty determination,” Rodimus told him, and Whirl actually barked out a short laugh.
There were no signs of anyone aboard the ship in any of the rooms they passed, from the engines to the remains of an oil reserve, to what were clearly crew quarters. Laboratories and medibays were also on the route, clearly visible through holes in the walls. Silvery dust kicked up by their passing made an almost choking haze, worst in the medibay.
“There’s clearly an atmosphere, are you sure you need the bridge?” Rodimus asked after several minutes of silence broken only by Whirl humming.
“Yes,” Perceptor said, keeping his reply as monosyllabic as possible. More than once he’d had to reroute their path due to doors refusing to open. He’d guessed the most likely cause was lack of air on the other side, and he didn’t want a repeat of the initial boarding shenanigans. Only on the bridge could he be sure of accessing enough data to get a proper map.
Rodimus smiled at him briefly. “Okay, okay, you don’t need to go into so much detail.”
“I know,” Perceptor said, and Rodimus laughed.
“How much longer until we reach the bridge?” Atomizer asked from Perceptor’s other side.
“Not far now,” Perceptor said, searching for an access hatch. He found one in an intersection. “Through there and straight up, most likely.”
“Great.” Rodimus yanked the hatch off the wall, moving out of the way of a trickle of the same silvery dust and exposing a panel not large enough for more than one person at a time. “I’ll go first. Sunstreaker, you and Bob are right behind me. Then Perceptor. Atomizer. Whirl.”
The bridge was right where Perceptor had suspected it would be, although not quite where it would have been in a standard ship. There was something about the design of this particular ship that reminded him of something else, and he’d let the nagging not-quite-memory guide his actions.
“Well. This is. Something.” Rodimus idly kicked at the dust on the floor, sending clouds through the air. “I guess we’re lucky there’s still air in here.”
“Smells stale,” Sunstreaker said from where he knelt on the floor petting Bob. The Insecticon chirruped at the attention, his optics glowing happily. “Kind of dirty.”
“That’ll be the dust,” Atomizer said sharply, prowling around the corners of the room. “Where’s the slagging crew?”
“If you’ll be patient, I might be able to tell you.” The first console Perceptor tried was too corroded to support any kind of a connection; the same was true of the second and the third. The fourth console, directly behind the captain’s chair, seemed more promising. A whistling noise filled the room as soon as he removed the access panel, less corroded than the first three.
“What in Primus’ name is that noise?” Rodimus demanded, after all of them – Whirl excepted – nearly jumped out of their skins at the sudden sound.
Perceptor stared very hard at the console. “There are some microscopic fissures,” he said finally. “We’re venting atmosphere.”
“How quickly?” Rodimus asked.
“Not quickly at all,” Perceptor hastened to assure him. “The noise is the worst effect. Unless conditions change drastically, it will be a matter of days before the change is noticeable.”
“Drastically,” Whirl muttered. He’d put a very neat hole right above the console in question, at an angle that suggested he’d had to modify his aim at the last possible microsecond. “That sound is all kinds of wrong.”
“It’s perfectly normal,” Perceptor said, and got to work.
Contrary to Perceptor’s expectations, the power levels in the ship’s systems hadn’t hit zero; they were resting at around 38%. While it was too low to maintain flight, it was high enough to maintain an atmosphere and several of the vital systems.
“Huh,” he said, and when Rodimus gave him an inquiring look, Perceptor responded with the most technical answer he could possibly produce. Rodimus clearly decided to back off and leave him alone after that.
The sensor network was flickering badly; completely down in some places – mostly those corresponding to the locked doors Perceptor had noticed, which implied that a vacuum was a plausible hypothesis – and shaky at best in others. He did manage to download a map of currently pressurized compartments, largely in the interior of the ship. The majority of the exterior sections were open to space at best and a total unknown at worst, although the dead parts of the network reached far into the core of the ship in places.
“So, what,” Rodimus said when Perceptor showed him the map. “This is where we can go?”
“With the extremely limited information I have currently available, I can offer the tenuous hypothesis that these areas are not entirely inimical to Cybertronian life,” Perceptor said.
Rodimus parsed the sentence. “So that’s a yes.”
“That’s a very tentative yes,” Perceptor corrected.
“And what happened to the crew?” Rodimus wanted to know.
“Rodimus, please. I’ve barely begun.”
Rodimus clapped him on the shoulder. “Great. You and Sunstreaker stay here. I’m going to get a few more teams over here to explore further. If nothing else, we might learn something about our own history. Hey, if we’re really lucky, there might be a connection to either the Circle of Light or the Knights of Cybertron.”
Perceptor forbore from pointing out exactly how unlikely either of those two events were; if Rodimus wanted to believe that this ship was perhaps old enough to be contemporary with the object of their quest, it wouldn’t hurt. “I don’t see why not,” he said.
He would come to regret those words in the days ahead.