Chapter Six
Sparkling

"I always know where you are, you never know where I am
You got me sneaking around like the invisible man
You'll never know where I've gone, you've gone and done it again
you've got me sneaking around like the invisible man
Going once, going twice, fuck this I'm gone"
—Theory of a Deadman, Invisible Man

“Rotate, please,” Physic instructed, stepping back and looking Dusk over with a critical optic. Meekly, Dusk did as she was bid and was rewarded with free range of motion. Not a hitch remained in her strained servos. She turned her head and gave the medic a small, wan smile.

“All better.”

Physic huffed, the corner of her lip components twitching with humor. “I should say so. Now, care to tell me how you got your rotator cuff in such a terrible twist?”

Dusk’s optics flickered on and off; biting her lip, she swiftly avoided optic-contact. Physic wandered around to the other side of the table and tilted Dusk’s chin back. “I need to know if it’s a system error, sparkling. Spill.”

It was hard to keep silent when you had a medic holding onto you. Dusk scuffed her heels on the table’s sides, processing quickly. “I went out the other night and got caught up in a protest.”

Physic nodded thoughtfully; there had been protests from both sides the other night, right after Sentinel Prime had made his announcement to close the Iacon arenas. “I see. Well, sparkling, I suggest that you keep your midnight swarees to the library. I’m getting low on replacements; there’s trouble brewing, and it’s not all over the closing of the Arenas.”

“Yes’m.”

“Now, Mistress Beta would like to see you. She had Hedge out looking for you the other night.” Physic tilted her head questioningly. It wasn’t everyday that Beta sent her personal turbohound out for a simple student.

Dusk hunched her repaired shoulder struts. Physic sighed. “Well, get.” She held out her forearm; Dusk leaned on it, slipping off the tabletop and onto the smartly-polished floor. With optics averted, Dusk skittered along the tile and out the door. Physic watched her go, a little more concerned than she normally was. The femme medic was well aware that times were changing and she was certain that it would be harsh.

“Chief Physic?” her comm beeped at her.

“Yes?”

“Singe’s student is here. The white one with the attitude – Ratchet.”

A smile tugged at Physic’s pale white lip components. “It’s not attitude, Pall, it’s called ‘excellent berth-side manner’. Send him in. It looks like I’m going to need the additional interns.”

Dusk trailed along the hallways, dragging her feet. Though she had promised Switchblade that she would take up Beta’s offer, it didn’t make things easier. Not after she had blown up in her creator’s face. Hopefully Beta was in a forgiving mood.

Moments later, it seemed that her calculation had been accurate. The door to the ancient femme’s quarters slid open with barely a hiss of pneumatics, revealing a green figure slumped back in her hover chair. Mouth slack, Dusk darted forward, her Energon pump tight with concern. “Mother!?”

“Ughnnnn …” Beta’s form jerked to life, servos popping, metal scraping on metal as she shifted. Dull blue optics flared, the shutters cutting off their brightness by half. “Ah, Dusk. We were so worried about you. Where did you run off to?”

Relieved, Dusk slipped into the nearest stationary chair, her previous temper-tantrum a thing of the past. “Downtown,” she lied, part of her cortex in shock at how easily these things were coming to her lips. “I got caught in a protest.”

Beta’s optic shutters fluttered and she reached up to wipe away a thin line of half-processed fuel that rolled from the corner of her mouth. “I heard about those,” the older femme admitted, half to herself, staring off into the distance. “Sentinel’s decree hasn’t settled well with many Iaconians.” She paused, slowly turning to head to face the younger sky-colored femme. “It was worse down in the entertainment district. Two mechs were terminated in the press.”

Dusk shifted uncomfortably, but Beta seemed more concerned with other things. “Life goes on, I suppose,” Beta murmured. “Now, have you considered my proposal?”

“Yes’m.”

Beta’s eye ridges rose up into the cracked and faded arc of her helm. From the looks of things, what Dusk had said to her the other night had really made an impact. “Well.” Beta eased her worn-out frame into a more comfortable position. “Hedge, bring the Key.”

Dusk’s mouth suddenly stopped producing lubricant at the mention of Hedge’s name. While she’d never personally set optics on the secret-ops femme, her legend was just that … legendary.

A shadow parted from the old orange of the wall and walked forward. It was then that Dusk understood how mystifying Hedge was – the femme’s coloration was muted, neither onyx nor grey, but mottled patches splashed indeterminably about her armor. Her optics were not yellow or blue, but a soft silver, perfectly matching the subtle edging around her helm, arm guards and feet. Vaguely, Dusk could see a hint of turbohound, Hedge’s nickname, in the femme’s facial plating. And when she walked, it was not an upright affair – rather, Hedge flowed.

In the femme’s right hand was a glowing golden key; this she passed with the utmost respect unto Beta before slipping back into the shadows which had birthed her.

Beta fingered the filigree that lined the large Key, a faraway look in her old optics. Then, in one sad motion, she held the Key out to Dusk. The sky-colored femme almost fell out of her chair in her haste to grab the object before it could slip out of Beta’s weary digits.

“You will take this to Vector Sigma’s chamber and present it to the Guardian. Once the great computer acknowledges you, It will ask you what you have come for.” Air whistled and spluttered from Beta’s intakes. “After you request a spark, Vector Sigma will indicate that you impart what qualities you wish the creation to have. In this, Dusk, you must be specific: you want a male-minded individual – and I stress individual – and that you wish his personality to be of its own developing. An organic blank slate. Do not let It dissuade you.”

Slowly, Dusk nodded, filing it all away.

“Bring the spark back; I will have a team at your call to start the construction process. What he looks like will be completely up to you.”

“And then what?” she found herself whispering.

Beta sighed. “And then … I … do not know. You may go, Dusk. I feel in need of a long recharge.” The battle-scarred warrior tilted her head sideways to look at Dusk, a haze coating the inside of her optics. “Good-bye, child; until the next …”

Pocketing the Key into a small hip holder, Dusk bounced up on the balls of her feet, leaning over and touching the older femme with her fingertips. “Mother?” She put her nearest audio to Beta’s chest, listening for the subtle thump of her Energon pump. “Mother?”

“Leave her,” a smooth, toneless vocalizer processed. Dusk’s head jerked back, searching the shadows for Hedge’s bizarre silver optics. No sliver, no glint, winked out at her from the silky blackness. “She still functions. Now go, you have an assignment to complete.”

With one last glance, Dusk pushed herself to her feet and bolted from Beta’s room. From the darkness, Hedge materialized once more and flowed to Beta’s side. “For how long she functions,” the curious femme whispered, “not even I know.”

Though she had lived in Iacon for all of her existence, Dusk still needed directions to Vector Sigma’s holy chambers. She made her way to a local transit port and stood patiently in line to get her ticket. The Key to Vector Sigma bore little weight in her hip carrier, but the mental burden was enormous.

More than once, she rolled her decision over in her well-educated cortex. What makes you think that you are the perfect model for this new being? she chided herself. Data-disk bound, created for research and development – not for … for … organic parenthood!

Loyalties torn, it was all she could do not to leave the line. “For someone who’s usually strapped to a chair, nasal ridge in a disk, you sure do move fast,” a familiar vocalizer sneered.

Dusk started and turned to look up into Switchblade’s gleaming face. The elite mech parted the crowd with an air of ownership to stand beside her. With his lip quirked, he folded his arms. “So, are we running again?”

Glancing about her, Dusk could only shake her head. The next thing she knew, Switchblade was wrapping his slim hand around her upper arm and practically dragging her from the line. “W-what!” she spluttered, optics wide and components jiggling inside her skull. “I have a tram to catch!”

Switchblade gave a very peculiar, cultured snort, the air from his intakes flowing over the top of her crest. “There’s fire in there somewhere,” she heard him mutter, half to himself.

“Really,” he spoke down to her now, “when you’re with me, do you think you’d be taking public transportation? Absurd!”

A thought clicked in her cortex as she was further dragged from the terminal. “I can’t ride in you!” The very notion tightened her neck lines, constricting fuel to her main processor.

Switchblade halted, the look on his face one of abject disgust. “I should hope not,” he scoffed. “You’d mess up my interior. I’m taking you to my hopper.”

Resigned, Dusk pattered along at his side, every now and then checking to make sure the Key was still where she’d put it. Of course, it was.

Switchblade’s hopper was parked illegally on the side of the road, at a junction specifically designated for the protectorate. He casually swept a hologram cube that was attached to the nose of the craft to the ground and crushed it with his wheeled heel. Pressing a panel on the door, the hatch rose with a silent yawn. “Get in,” the mech ordered, practically lifting her into the hopper.

Suddenly, Dusk found herself sitting the real lap of luxury. Dials and gadgets and screens galore assailed her simple optics. Switchblade slid in beside her, closed the hatch and began the power-up sequence. “So, where to?” The query left his lip components in a bored fashion, and Dusk was given the impression that he really didn’t care. Still, why was he even bothering? Maybe, she could ask him later.

“Vector Sigma.”

Switchblade’s hands dropped from the control panel. “A Key? They gave you a KEY?”

His surprise shocked her. “Well, yes … what else would you use to ask for a spark?”

“May I see it?”

Dusk hunched her shoulders, his tone worrying her. “Uhm, no, sorry. I have to keep it on me until we get there.”

He was leaning over her, face close. A hand not hers was slowly sliding up her sky-colored thigh plates. “Come now,” he breathed low, “just a peek?”

Dusk shook her head, his sudden curiousity and attitude change setting off alarms. “Uhm, maybe I should go by myself …”

The hand retracted, and so did Switchblade. He finished the power-up sequence, and suddenly, the craft began to rise into the air – so smoothly, Dusk was surprised to see them off the ground when she took a glance out the window. “Well,” he said a few moments later, navigating early afternoon traffic, “how’s ol’ Beta?”

Tearing herself away from this new experience, the young femme replied quietly, “Fine.”

“Just ‘fine’?”

Dusk shifted uncomfortably. Again, his tone had changed, as well as his overall demeanor.

“Yes.”

Switchblade seemed to be aware of exactly how much damage he had done with his little outburst, and the rest of the journey passed in stoic silence.

A few clicks later, the temple to Vector Sigma appeared on the horizon, its gleaming minarets and twin Guardian robots rising from the depths of Cybertron. Dusk glanced at Switchblade and found the haughty mech’s face warped. He was looking down and out, all around, digits clenched nervously on the controls. Dusk felt it, too – a sense of being overwhelmed, knowing that this is where you came from, that this great construction had the power to give – and take – life.

Life!

Fuel singing in her audios, Energon pump dancing frantically against the inside of her chest, Dusk scrabbled for the Key in her holder. Vibrations resonated along her fingers, into her chest and cortex. Startled, she looked down at it. The Key was singing … calling out to the part of it that remained locked within the temple.

“Landing …” Switchblade’s vocalizer was a shadow of its former cadence and pride. He was visibly emotional, so much that he had difficulty settling the craft into its proper box on the grounds. With a large whoosh of air, it came to rest over the line. “Oh … well. They’ll put it on my tab,” he quipped cryptically, lifting the hatch. “Out you get.”

Holding the Key to her chest, Dusk tipped out the other side, landing in an undignified sprawl by the large tripod feet. Switchblade’s usual snorting scoff sounded above her, his hands reaching down and hooking not-so-gently under her arms. Chagrined, she managed to get her own two feet under her unwilling body and stand.

“Want me to hold that for you?”

“No,” she told him, a little more firmly than she was used to speaking.

Switchblade sighed. “You know, girly, mechs don’t like femmes who insist on doing things for themselves. Don’t you want to be protected?”

Puzzlement creased Dusk’s brow ridge. Shy she might be – stupid she was not. “I thought you said you liked fire in a femme?”

He snorted again, caught. “Fire, yes – smart, no.”

“Well, thank you for the ride; I have to get going …”

“I’ll walk with you, then. I haven’t been here since Beta activated me.”

Now it was Dusk’s turn to sigh. For all of Switchblade’s bravado, he was not careful in concealing his own agenda. “Okay …” All right, so she was still a little stricken with the elitist.

Side by side, they walked up to the entrance way, policed by those two massive Guardian robots. Neither of the twins so much as looked in their direction, not considering them threats.

The temple of Vector Sigma was a domed affair with several sweeping minarets sitting at the four corners of the compass. Golden and silver, shot with veins of blue and a hint of orange, it sat majestically on a rolling metallic hill overlooking the Autobot Council of Elders. Indeed, Vector Sigma overlooked most of Iacon, save the Elite Towers beyond.

Key tight in her hands, Dusk stepped up to the transparent bay doors; they opened with barely a hiss of pneumatics and a gust of air. Instantly, a mech was standing before them – a mech Dusk knew from his visits to Beta. This was Alpha Trion, one of the last original Autobots from the War of Autonomy.

“Al-lpha Tr-i-on.”

The wise mech smiled in surprise. “Ahh, hello there. You’re one of Beta’s femmes, aren’t you? Forgive me if I can’t remember your name.”

Energon pump hammering at almost the same speed and fervor as it had when she’d crashed into Sentinel Prime, Dusk nodded. “Dusk.”

“Oh, yes, Hedge said you’d be by.” The strange purple-red-silver mech’s optics flickered over Switchblade, weighing, gauging. “And you are?”

Switchblade scoffed. “No one you need to know, old man.”

Aghast, Dusk turned to Alpha Trion: “His name is Switchblade, sir.” Switchblade reeled back. “You –”

The older mech stepped between them. “There shall be no fighting within the chambers of Vector Sigma.” He turned to face the elitist. “And I know perfectly well who you are, young man. I just wanted to see if there was any courtesy left within your cold spark to give me your name willingly. Apparently not.” His optics flickered with a more appraising motion over Dusk, perhaps trying to understand her reason behind traveling with Switchblade. “Come, my dear. The chamber is clear for you.” He looped an arm over Dusk’s rounded struts, effectively cutting her off from Switchblade, who continued to fume in the background.

Dusk looked up at Beta’s compatriot, catching Switchblade’s stiff-legged march to keep up with them, but trying to make it look like he was going elsewhere. Alpha Trion smiled. “You must be something special to Beta, Dusk; I have never heard of her sending an apprentice to claim a spark.” He paused, reaching up to stroke the short, white protuberance on his chin. Dusk recalled something of the sort on a trader race – they called it a “goatee”. “Then again, I’ve yet to see any one of Beta’s girls come here. What is the nature of your coming?”

They swept into a long corridor; through the walls, the floor, the very air, Dusk could feel the hum of the ancient computer, Vector Sigma. It sang in her myriad fuel lines, in her head, in her spark. It was like a calling – of coming home.

It wasn’t until Alpha Trion had asked a third time, with a grin on his smooth face, that she was finally able to answer. This one was far more detailed than what she had told Switchblade before, coupled with Beta’s instructions. “Interesting” was all the older mech replied, stroking his goatee.

At the end of the corridor was an arcing portal. Beyond that was a deep pit; hovering in the center was a massive, multi-faceted golden orb.

Vector Sigma.

“It is here that we leave you, Dusk,” Alpha Trion told her gently, not even glancing behind him to make certain Switchblade understood the command. “Go forward, hold out the Key, and answer what It asks of you.”

And then he was letting go of her struts, letting her fall under the spell of Vector Sigma. Dusk teetered forward, the Key biting into the hard surface of her palms. Cortex afire, she edged up to the pit and looked upon the Thing that had given her existence. This is the beginning … and the end …

In her hands, the Key sang – and called out.

The great globe sang back, rising without wires or jets or anti-grav units. It rose high in the air, sweeping past Dusk and hovering above her head. And then the words came: “I AM VECTOR SIGMA. BEFORE CYBERTRON WAS – I WAS. WHAT IS THE NATURE OF YOUR REQUEST.”

Terrified, Dusk held out the Key, her vocalizer beyond processing words.

“IT IS A SPARK THAT YOU REQUEST.”

Looking up into that great spheroid, somehow, Dusk found her words. “Yes.” It was barely a whisper, a faint puff of air in the stillness of the chamber – yet, It heard her.

“BODY.”

The Key fluttered in her hands. “I have no body.”

Vector Sigma paused, then rotated slowly. It loomed over her, coming at her head much as a small moon would on a collision course with a planet. Dusk gasped, hearing a faint exclamation of two others behind her. But all she could see, hear, experience – was Vector Sigma.

“NO BODY. BUT A SPARK YOU REQUEST. WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE THIS SPARK POSSESS.”

Some snarky part of Dusk realized that the computer never asked questions; rather, they were all statements. “A blank spark, an organic-minded spark. One that will develop its personality of its own choosing. A male-minded individual.”

“I DO NOT CREATE BLANKS. WHAT WILL YOU HAVE IT BE.”

Dusk repeated herself, watching the orb flit closer, further, from her face. The Key hummed in her hands, keeping Vector Sigma from completely overwhelming her.

“NO BLANKS.”

A sweet music, so pleasing and ethereal, flowed over Dusk. The Key continued to sing: “Such is the nature of my request.”

“SO BE IT. I AM VECTOR SIGMA, THE ALPHA AND OMEGA, THE BEGINNING AND END OF CYBERTRON. BEHOLD!”

The great orb began to glow; golden, golden – bright white. Crying out, Dusk threw up her hands, but the light poured through. The Key vanished from her grasp, taken back into the computer. And then the light died; through her fingers, Dusk watched as a spark parted from the belly of the globe and began to float towards her.

It’s real! Real!

“NO BODY FOR A SPARK – A SURROGATE MUST BE FOUND UNTIL INCEPTION.” The ethereal orb of a new life, shot through with streaks of white and blue, a swirl of red and gold, hovered briefly before her face – before entering her body through her torso plates.

Dusk gaped, wide-mouthed, clutching her stomach. A wisp of the other world passed from her dry lip components … and she fell over into darkness.