Part One
Chapter One
Dusk

"She seems to have an invisible touch yeah
She reaches in, and grabs right hold of your heart
She seems to have an invisible touch yeah
It takes control and slowly tears you apart."
—Genesis, Invisible Touch

Her fingers curled over the smooth surface of the railing, peering above the short gap between the observation deck and the window. Down below, spinning gently within the womb of the Universe, was a small blue-green planet; long traces of puffy clouds rolled along with nary a care in the world. A soft, longing sigh fluttered past the femme’s pale lip components at the sight of this entire organic splendor. Her private education had included several courses on organics and their brief, tumultuous lives; they also spoke of how beautiful their worlds were – before they destroyed them in their quests for power and immortality.

“Just itchin’ t’get down there, aren’t we, sweetheart?”

Surprised, she whirled, scraping her mid-back plates on the railing in her haste. “Lieutenant Kup,” she acknowledged, wondering if her civilian status meant that she was exempt from saluting him.

Not a few feet away stood a rugged young sea-green mech who grinned, the malleable metal of his face sliding smoothly over sharp cheek plates. “Yer Dusk, aren’t you? One of Beta’s pet projects.”

Relieved, she nodded. Kup remained where he was, his slate blue optics looking her up and down. Dusk grit her dental plates and submitted to the perusal. She knew that he was taking in the fact that she had no alternative mode; like many of Beta’s scholarly creations, she had been built for brains, not for brawn. And in this Age, there were plenty of Transformers with transportation modes to call upon – that, or she could just use the public lines. Which she normally did, because she found riding inside someone to be a little creepy.

Kup’s optic swept up and down, noting her clean lines and her coloration. Named for such, Dusk was pale rose-grey in the center, deepening into a dark blue-violet along her extremities. Her helm was a simple affair – a gentle crest like a rolling wave in a sea of golden Energon.

“One of the smarter ones, I’m told,” Kup continued, throwing his shoulders back, inspection complete. “How’s ol’ Beta doin’ these days?”

Dusk smiled delicately, relieved that his gaze had been, to say the least, professional. As for his question … Most Cybertronians knew of Beta and her contribution to the planet’s freedom from their Quintesson oppressors. As such, when she was identified as a Beta-creation, this was the sort of conversation she got dragged into. “As well as she can be. She hasn’t left the compound lately, but she sends us out to gather information.”

Kup snorted and moved to the railing, propping his well-worn elbows on the bar. “Good t’hear. How many of you are there now? A hundred? Two?”

The waxing-sky-colored femme chuckled low. “Oh, so many more.”

“No offense, girly, but I don’t see the point in all’a you. A mech’s a mech’n’all. No need to muddy the Energon with so many diff’rent emotions.”

“Femmes were built for a reason, Lieutenant Kup,” she began, feeling the scholar in her begin to override her initial trepidation and inherent shyness. “Those like Mother Beta were built to order for organics; our bodies and emotions were tailored to the feminine sex of said species. We might not be feminine in an organic sense, but we were feminine in mind. And I think it makes a wonderful difference. Society is a dual-natured creation; one cannot be alone.”

Kup snorted again, the air from his ventilators almost whistling through his thin olfactory component. “Bah,” was all he said, and it seemed to Dusk that the matter was to be dropped. “So, what’s yer job t’be on this mission?”

“Collect information for Mother Beta.”

The sea-green mech pushed himself off the railing. “That can’t be all.”

Dusk grinned. “You can ask your captain for my papers, Lieutenant, it’s all there.”

Kup threw her a disgruntled look before turning to leave. Dusk rotated and cast her optics once more over the world below. Truth be told, she was a little anxious about this mission; she’d never been off Cybertron before, but her other scholar sisters all agreed that the trip was worth it. They all spoke of spark-changing moments that happened off-world, how their core consciousnesses had expanded and their knowledge developed into something more. Indeed, Mother Beta encouraged all of her sparklings to go out into the world, to make something of themselves, to be better than the servants she and her own sister-femmes had been created to be. Dusk was young, yes, not quite into her first century, but Beta believed the twilight-colored femme had promise. Well, whatever I find, hopefully I can make you proud, Mother.

“Now, be careful,” Kup warned, folding his arms and looking out over the bustling spaceport with a discerning optic. “We might be trade partners, but it’s tentative. I’ve heard stories about these ‘people’ that’ll rust the bolts offa yer skidplate.”

Dusk was too busy taking it all in to formulate any sort of query. The only point of comparison she had was the great Iacon spaceport – all the others were from holovids. Compared to Iacon, this organic port seemed downright primitive. There was one lone squat building sitting rather decrepitly further along the tarmac. Space-faring craft seemed to be parked haphazardly along the cracked concrete strip, their cargo and crew lounging where they pleased. Taking an experimental sniff, Dusk coughed, trying to force the offending odor out of her olfactory components.

“Takes getting used to,” commented a crewmember to her left, a generic sort of fellow, but one who had the tip of a laser rifle pointedly showing over his right strut. Suddenly, Kup’s off-handed comment didn’t seem so … off-handed. Perhaps he was telling the Primus-honest truth. Did Beta really know what she had sent her scholar into?

Slowly, the small contingent of Cybertronians, with Dusk pointedly stuck in the middle, made their way towards the office complex.

“We’re gettin’ our passes,” Kup told her, though it was quite obvious. “Now, listen closely, missy.” Something in his vocalizer struck a chord within Dusk and made her straighten her struts and look over at the robust mech expectantly. “Yer t’stay as close as a magnaflea to the exhaust port of a turbofox, understand? No wanderin’ off on yer own.”

Inside her curved chestplate, Dusk’s Energon pump did a peculiar flop. Mother …! “Yes … sir.”

Kup flicked one of his discerning optics over her, as if he were trying to gauge the sincerity of her reply. Seemingly satisfied, he hooked her elbow and brought her up into the line of other spacefarers waiting for their passes. When their turn came, Kup planted one hand on the desk and stared down hard at the official – a rather inky, oily and all around reptilian creature. “Crew of the Aelaria, from Cybertron.”

Bulbous, watery eyes with their nictitating lids flickering up and down the line of metallic sentients, the creature croaked once, accusingly. Kup snorted. “Five, only.” Another croak. A hard frown ran jaggedly across Kup’s beaten face. He turned to the others. “Honcho says we gotta check our weapons. Put ’em on the table.”

The generic mech to Dusk’s right folded his arms across his barrel chestplate. “We didn’t have to go through this slag the last time.”

“Don’t make me beat you with it, Spinner. Put it down.” Pointedly, Kup held out his hand; with a roll of his optical sensors, the mech pulled his rifle from over his shoulder, pushed Kup aside and pressed it into the soft tabletop. The bulging eyes of the dock supervisor only grew larger at the show of aggression. He rose an inch and jabbered accusingly at Kup, the fabric of his gilded robe near fit to burst as he swelled in anger.

“Just great,” the lieutenant muttered. “Your posturing cost us a hundred more credits.” Palming a thin datapad from subspace, Kup passed it to the supervisor. “All of you! Weapons down!” Unlike Spinner, the other two mechs did as they were told, laying their pistols and rifles on the table. Dusk hung back, having had no training in firearms, nor carrying one herself.

Kup folded his arms and watched the toad paw through their armaments while a smaller, less-obese lackey transferred the credits. It was rather funny observing the alien, who was about the same size as a small Transformer pistol, try to lift it for inspection. Suddenly, the dock supervisor’s eyes fell on Dusk. The femme, taken by surprise, took an involuntary step back. The alien let loose a long, loud belch aimed at Kup, gesticulating madly in her direction.

“Her?” Kup returned calmly, disarmingly. “Nothing wrong with her.” Croak-belch-CROAK. “Didn’t know we had females? Well, first time for everything.” BELCH. “Naw, she ain’t got nothin’ on her. Clean as a pipe. Couldn’t shoot a turbofish if it flopped up dysfunctional.”

Dusk bit her lower lip component as Kup blithely continued to insult and demean her. She knew, intellectually, that it was a complete ruse, and half of her suspected that the alien knew it, too. But his actions weren’t exactly telling of his mental capacity. And part of her stung at each barb Kup casually flung her way.

The bantering went on for a few more klicks before the supervisor threw up his tiny, suction-cupped hands and tossed five miniscule cards on the table. With a huff, he turned around and stalked back into the relative safety of his officiator building. Kup scooped them up with one hand and quickly ushered the other four to the side where he dolled them out.

“Spinner, keep a hold on that throttle of yers. Take Steelburst and Metalfrost into the District and get those parts we need. I’m gonna escort our little scholar over to the entertainment sector so she can do some ‘research’.”

Dusk didn’t particularly like the grins that flickered across Steelburst and Metalfrost’s facial plates. “Entertainment sector”? They nudged each other before Spinner snapped them into line. Off they went, slinging their checked weaponry over their shoulders or magna-clamping onto their outer thighs.

Once they were out of optical and aural range, Dusk spun accusingly on her heel. “Just what were you implying?”

Kup once again took possession of her elbow joint, drawing her away from the more-populous area. “Exactly,” he said as they walked on. “You shouldn’t worry about what they think of you. They’re spacefarers, they’ve seen and heard everything. They’ll forget you the moment this trip’s over and yer back in yer pretty bunker with Miss Beta.”

Brightly-clothed aliens with long, supple snouts delayed Dusk’s reply for a nanoklick. “And what about you, Lieutenant?”

He smirked. “Call me Kup, girl. And as for me, I don’t think there’s a way I’d forget you, considering ol’ Beta hired me to keep an optic on ya.”

Only the bustle of the tarmac kept Dusk on the move. Gape-mouthed, she turned to look across at the stocky mech. “Why?” she managed to push past her vocalizer. A smudge of betrayal wormed its way through her fuel-lines and took up residence in her Energon pump. Was she not ready to be out on her own? Did Beta truly believe her youngest creation needed a sparkling-sitter?

“Hey, wipe that look offa yer face, girl. Beta didn’t mean t’demean ya. She cares for ya, that’s why she asked me.”

It took effort, but Dusk managed to school the petulant expression into something resembling neutrality.

“Youth,” Kup scoffed, shaking his head and blithely steering her into a sea of tents and lean-tos. “Just-sparkeds think all the wrath of Primus’ll fall on ’em.”

Stoically, Dusk kept her lip components shut. Obviously, Kup knew more than he had let on, informed, no less, by Beta herself. And if that was true, he knew what her assignment was. With a small sigh, she flicked her optics over one tent, than other, acutely aware of the sea green mech’s hold on her elbow joint. None of the transients were as tall, or advanced, it seemed, as the Cybertronians. They were all organic, some bearing the signs of having space travel thrust upon them. Those were the ones who stared the most, as if trying to battle their culture and society.

Dusk prided herself on being able to recognize the difference between a youth and adult specimen. Her assignment was to analyze the culture of spaceports, not observe the dynamics of organic reproduction. That was reserved for Beta’s oldest creations. But Dusk couldn’t keep her optics off of the way the smaller organics leapt and screeched in joy, hid in the skirts of their mothers, or watched the two Cybertronians with their pudgy digits in their facial orifices. What had been an unpleasantness lodged in her main line quickly faded into fascination as one female organic leaned down and planted her lips on the brow of a smaller.

“Whatcha watchin’, missy?” Kup murmured low in her left aural tract.

“Them,” she whispered back. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” Beside her, Kup shrugged.

“I suppose,” he replied, unimpressed or just having seen it all. “Here’s the hub. Make it quick, cuz I can see the port supervisor’s lackeys salivating.”

A quick glance over her right strut confirmed Kup’s warning. Peering around the corner of a large lean-to was a black-scaled toad, a little slimmer than his employer, but wearing the same expression and colors. Swallowing the wad of lubricant that had begun to collect in the back of her throat, Dusk pulled a thin data pad out of her thigh and began taking notes.