CHAPTER 4: WELCOME TO EOREZA
Leaning across the table, Rodimus smirked. "So, upon arriving on a distant world of floating islands and fortress moons, and the first thing you did was find a princess who'd snuck out without telling anyone, then the guards sent out to find her? Did you get thrown in a dungeon next, really complete the experience?"
"Ha! No, no, it wasn't nearly that bad," Countdown laughed, waving a hand dismissively. "For one thing, Fylgja isn't a princess. Draconic society doesn't work that way. Her mother, Ratatoskr, was important, yes, mostly because she hatched from one of the seven eggs that Midgardsormr managed to rescue from the Dragonstar, and thus is one of the oldest dragons alive. None of that status passes on to all the children she's had over thousands of years. The only real problem was I was a weird alien with a spaceship that had landed on their island. Heck, the fact I was peacefully talking with Fylgja was actually a point in my favor."
"Okay, fair enough, no dungeon." It was clear that Rodimus was mildly disappointed by that. "So, if they decided you weren't hostile…"
The smaller mech grinned back. "I was a curiosity. And one thing you need to understand about Lady Ratatoskr? She positively adores a good curiosity."
***
It was quickly becoming clear that Dragons didn't see much need for fine architecture. They were perfectly comfortable making their homes in caves and mountains, forcing it to bend to their needs. The massive cavern that Countdown had been brought to had been carved out of the rock by tooth and claw, and probably a lot of fire, over the course of centuries. At a glance, he could see dozens of alcoves, most of them full of dragons in various sizes, looking down at him with obvious fascination.
But he spared them only a glance. In the center of the cavern, there was a raised platform upon which rested an enormous dragon, bigger than any he'd yet seen. Her scales were a deeper red than the others in the cavern, with the marks and scars of time carefully tended to. A long tail curled around the body, making a perfect pillow for her head as she napped. "Mother, we have a guest here to see you," Fylgja announced, her earlier glee now replaced by a nervousness Countdown found rather adorable.
As the massive being stirred, Countdown could feel his outer plating tingle from the sheer power radiating outward, and kept a firm grip on the fear in his spark, even as she regarded him with glowing eyes. "Well now, thou art an interesting surprise," the massive dragon said at last, in a surprisingly gentle voice, even with the cavern amplifying its volume. "A soul wrapped in living metal. I must admit, this is something beyond my ken." She moved forward, head ducking down to inspect Countdown closely. After several seconds, she glanced over to where Fylgja was hovering nervously and laughed lightly, relatively speaking. "Thou always find the most fascinating things daughter. So, what is thy name stranger?"
Smiling politely, he bowed, a deeper and more elaborate bow than the one he'd given Fylgja. "Millady, I am Countdown of Cybertron, Ranger of the Commonwealth, and Captain of the Starship Wayforward." His smile became more playful. "Although honesty compels me to admit, the last title is not as grand as it might seem, what with my being the only crewmember."
That drew a laugh from the dragon, the noise echoing off the walls and making a number of hatchlings take to the air in surprise. Countdown just let the noise wash over him, with all the ease of a micromaster that had spent his life around larger scaled bots. "Such modesty thou have good sir! And yet, a ship that can travel between the stars... Mine father spoke but rarely of the nature of his own, similar trials, but I know tis no simple feat. So I hope thou wouldst be willing to indulge my curiosity, and share your tale."
"Lady Ratatoskr, I would be honored."
***
"I must admit, our people know little of the stars beyond this one," Ratatoskr admitted as she made her way out of the tunnel and into the clearing outside, Countdown following close behind. "Among our kind, only my father would possess the power needed to travel in such desolation. And after the ordeal that brought him here, he would not embark on such a journey again without good reason. If he knows of the threat thy people face, he has never spoken of it with us." Pausing, she looked up at the darkening sky, her expression thoughtful. "He has often called this star the last bastion of hope. Before, I always believed he was speaking in terms of finding safe refuge at last, but now I wonder…"
Lacing his fingers together behind his head, Countdown considered her words for a moment. "Could we ask him?"
She replied with a rumbling noise that he assumed was thoughtful. "I will," she said at last. "If he will meet with thou, I know not. My father is reclusive at the best of times," she added apologetically.
Quickly, he shook his head, waving off the apology. "As a mech whose job means he spends years without talking to anyone in person, I'm certainly in no position to judge."
That earned him an appreciative laugh, as Ratatoskr spread her wings wide. As he watched, the massive dragon indulged in a full body stretch, seemingly working every muscle along her frame, giving a hint as to how much physical power she possessed. "You said that your ship is damaged," she mused, changing topics. "It will take time to repair, I suspect."
"I'd only just begun inspecting the damage when Fylgja found me," Countdown admitted, watching as another island drifted by overhead. In the back of his mind, he made a mental note to look into just how that was possible.
Turning slightly, she considered the smaller being for a moment. "Then for the time being, allow me to offer thou a place to rest and recover."
***
"And so, I became a guest of the Horde for just over a decade, during which I divided most of my time between repairing the Wayforward and exploring the world below." A fond smile slipped onto his face as he thought back to those days. "And let me tell you, that world? Floating islands in the sky are just the beginning. I met over a dozen different sapient races during my time there, and I know of just as many more again."
"Other races taking shelter from the Endsong?" Dustoff mused.
He shook his head. "Nope. Besides the dragons, they're all native. Several clearly share a common ancestor, but not all." Removing the map from the display on the tables holoprojector, he replaced it with a collection of images, showing the various peoples of Etheirys, with labels showing species names. Sure enough, some, like the Hyur, Elezen and Roedagyns, were all similar enough that a common ancestor was possible. Then there were those such as the Sylph, Kojin and Ixal, who were so wildly different they couldn't possibly be related.
"I'm afraid I don't understand?" Ultra Magnus said after several seconds of looking between the various images.
First Aid merely shook his head. "It's an organic biology thing."
"...I'll take your word for it. Although I must ask, it took you a whole decade to repair your ship? Even with a planetary survey to perform, that seems excessive."
Leaning back, Countdown couldn't quite suppress a groan. "At first, I prioritized trying to get the quantum communicator online. Given how long the travel time back to the Commonwealth was, it seemed like the logical option. Actually, that was a complete waste of my time," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I went through so much grief trying to get the raw materials for that, but it just never came together. My best guess is there was some microscopic damage I could never find, but either way, that was countless hours wasted. And it left me with lots of other repairs that could have been done…"
Magnus nodded in sympathy. "Errors in scheduling are never a welcome development."
"I'm guessing you didn't just trip over the Matrix the first time you went looking around for those raw materials," Dustoff said.
"Not even close. Ethereiys was a chaotic place, to put it mildly. In particular, the continent below the dragons domain, Eoreza, was… familiar, in some ways."
***
As a long range exploration ship, the Wayforward came equipped with an array of Sky Spy drones, designed to map out worlds at high altitudes with minimal chance of detection. In this case, Countdown had actually been slightly hesitant to use them. With how the war moon had already seen through his ships' stealth systems, he couldn't help but worry that there were other weapons satellites lying in wait for him. Eventually however, after some discussions with Ratatoskr on the matter, he deployed the drones to map out the world beneath what the Dragons called the Churning Mists.
Now, he stood in the clearing that had become home to his ship, a mobile holoprojector set up, watching as the first images were compiled into a map. Alongside him were Ratatoskr and Fylgja, plus several other dragons of varying size and age, all of whom had varying degrees of interest in seeing the continent known as Eoreza in new ways.
"Wow," Fylgja whispered, flying closer to the massive map taking shape in the air. "This is… Oh, the Loresingers could use this to add pictures to their songs!"
Her mother chuckled. "That is an ambitious idea, daughter. One I shall be certain to mention to them."
Folding his arms over his chest, Countdown considered the image with a thoughtful frown. As the image updated, the Sky Spies AI marking out items of interest and displaying side images, familiar patterns began to emerge. Villages, long abandoned and forgotten. Battlefields where the dead had been left to the elements. The larger cities, hidden behind massive walls lined with guards and weapons. Countless small forts, some at locations intended for defense, while others were lookouts, clearly intended to sound the alarm at best.
Before the Fall, when the Decepticons had made war in an effort to 'unite' all the transformers under their banner, Countdown had been an Autobot Commander. As he looked at the images in front of him, he could feel the familiar dread wrap around his spark. "A cold war, occasionally turning hot," he murmured to himself.
"Huh?" Fylgja asked, turning to look at him.
Ratatoskr nodded her head, her expression becoming much more serious. "Most perceptive Captain. The lands below us are trapped in a war that has been waged for generations, consuming countless lives in a heartless cycle. Ever since the city-state of Mhach first discovered that which would become known as Black Magic. What was at first a tool of defense was quickly warped into a weapon of conquest. The other city-states were forced to develop their own defenses against the expansion, and now, we see how such a path can end." She sighed, wings slumping slightly. "Perhaps the only way it can end. My brother believes that such is the nature of mortals, that their short lives doom them to nothing but a cycle of violence and hatred. That it is all too easy for them to accept the way the world is as all it has always been, that it is the way it should be. I admit, there are times I fear he may be right."
Considering that for a moment, Countdown shuttered his optics. "Mortality isn't the cause of that," he admitted at last, his mind drifting back to Cybertron. Memories of countless battles, horrors, loss… Opening his optics, the mech continued. "Transformers live for so long that some of us believe that no one has ever died of old age. But this?" He gestured at the images being presented to them. "I recognise this from my own past. For a long time, our race was trapped in a seemingly endless war. I won't bother you with the politics, but it grew to the point that pretty much all the nations of our worlds were trapped in it. To the people of this world, we're immortal in every way that matters. But in the end, we still have the same evils in our sparks."
Fylgja looked between the pair, confused as only the young could be. "But you're not evil," she protested, in the tone of voice that insisted such a thing should be obvious.
"No, he is not," Ratatoskr reassured her daughter. "But he speaks truth regardless. The potential for such things exists in all souls, even ours. Envy, hatred, greed, fear… we experience such emotions, just as the mortals do. What matters is having the strength to rise above those temptations, to be stronger." Reaching down, she rubbed her head against her hatchling, who still looked like she didn't quite understand. "Although, now I wonder. Might I ask what happened with your people Captain?"
"An outside problem," he said, knowing Ratatoskr would work out exactly what he meant. "When the ground was literally crumbling under our feet, the would-be conquerors had more important things to worry about. Most of them accepted, however reluctantly, that the only chance for our people to survive the crisis was by working together."
Considering him for a moment, the brood-mother raised an eyeridge. "And were all your people comfortable with offering them that aid?"
That earned her a somewhat bitter laugh in reply. "Not all of us, no. There were a lot of bots that didn't like the idea in the slightest. You're talking to one of them right now." As Fylgja chirped in obvious disbelief, he massaged the back of his neck. "I'd been fighting for a long time. Every time we held out a hand in peace, every last time, they'd cut it off. The thought of doing it again, with so much on the line? Just asking for trouble. First chance they got, they'd do what Decepticons always do, and good people would die. But what was the alternative? Take up arms against our fellow Autobots for their basic decency? None of us were that lost. So we waited for things to go wrong, to make sure all of our people got out of it."
Chuckling to himself, he shook his head. "Except that's not what happened for the most part. Oh, a few of them were stupid, sure, and they were even high ranking 'Cons in some cases. But the majority, and a lot of the rank and file? When the sky was burning, they had more faith that their enemies would help them then in their leaders to save them." Smiling wryly, he shrugged, the earlier bitterness gone. "Having something like that proven beyond a doubt really does shake things up."
"I imagine so," Ratatoskr agreed, before changing the topic slightly. "Given the tensions between the nations of man, we dragons rarely travel to the lands below. But I suspect thou would not prefer such a path."
"Afraid not," he admitted. "I'm the sort of bot that prefers a hands-on investigation. Still, given what you've said about the situation on the ground, it is better I remain relatively unnoticed, at least until I'm reasonably confident I'm the sort of 'Outside Problem' that won't just flip the table." As if demonstrating his point, one of the side displays shifted to an encampment of soldiers being run through training drills. Row after row of men in armor, striking at training dummies with swords, axes and spears. "After all, they might be as welcoming to unexpected guests as your people…"
***
Leaning back in his chair, Rodimus gave the latest set of images a thoughtful look. "Yeah, that looks like the kind of situation where everyone's response to a starship would be 'hey, let's steal it to destroy our enemies.'"
Dustoff sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "With the second response being 'we should attack our enemies now, before they get the ship and destroy us.' So, how exactly did you disguise yourself? Your alt-mode is still the one we had on file for you, so clearly that wasn't it.'
Pushing his chair back, the micromaster stood up, giving everyone a good view of most of his body. As they watched, his body began to shift slightly, panels and components moving to smooth out his profile. Then, as the wheels in his limbs split open and flattened out, hidden compartments in the axles slid open to reveal small crystalline gems that began to glow slightly. A moment later, Countdowns entire form wavered as an image settled over it. It was a carefully crafted illusion of a gray-skinned roedagyn man, the panels of his body made to look like plated armor, with chainmail and fabric underneath. An open helmet shaped like his actual head framed a face dominated by a flattened nose and brilliant blue eyes, with strands of brown hair poking out from under it.
"Ratatoskrs work, for the most part," he admitted as he turned on the spot to give them all a good look. "The crystals in my shoulders have a detailed draconic spell array carved into them, which when power is channeled through them, generates what she likes to call a 'tangible glamor.' It's solid enough, and provides the right kind of feedback to the touch, that it passed casual inspection by local capabilities… um?"
Leaning across the table, Red Alerts optics narrowed as he inspected the illusionary man very closely, with all the laser focus one would expect from a professional paranoid. After a moment, he nodded in satisfaction and sat back down. "Limited effectiveness against infrared and magnetic scans. While I'll need more data before making a final conclusion, I don't see it posing a viable threat to the security of the ship."
"Plus there's the fact that any possible beings that might use it as a method of infiltration are over a vorn away," Rodimus said, resisting the urge to grin at his security chief. He'd take it the wrong way.
"That's no reason not to consider countermeasures," Red pointed out, Magnus nodding in agreement.
"Thankfully, the civilisations of Ethereiys lacked the ability to apply such security precautions," Countdown continued, returning to his seat and deactivating the illusion, the roegadyn form flowing back into the crystals like water. "At least as a wide spread measure. There were some people, besides the dragons, with the ability to see through the glamor, but given that they were people in positions of authority that my investigations were already trying to avoid making contact with until I was certain it was safe to do so…" He waved a hand dismissively. "Anyway, it took about a year before we had the glamor of sufficient quality for field work, at which point I started a more hands-on investigation, combined with resource hunting for ship repairs."
"Judging by the armor your illusion was wearing, I can guess your cover story," Dustoff said, getting a chuckle and nod in reply.
"There's always work for a hired sword in a cold war on the edge of going hot. Still, it could have been worse. Helped a lot of people with wild animal and bandit problems, made some remarkable friends, some of them I even trusted with the truth about where I was from, and even did pretty well in regards to tracking down the rare metals and chemicals I needed… and that was how I ended up on the path to the Matrix."
Plugging back into the desk, he changed the main image back to the map, zooming in on the edge of a large desert. "The Amalj'aa Expanse. Technically allied with Mhach, but by the time I arrived, that was all but non-existent. Mhach had a history of using its allies as expendable slag, because they knew Amdapor wouldn't accept any nation willing to change sides by this point."
"Well isn't that familiar," Rodimus muttered.
"That being said, the amalj'aa people weren't shy about making their feelings known, which led to this." He replaced the map with a rather large settlement, built around and into a mesa. Secondary images, taken inside the city itself, showed streets filled with people from at least a dozen different species, doing business at countless shops and stalls. "Zal'na'rak. The largest free market on the continent. Mhach couldn't get the clans to shut it down, and too many people on the Amdapori side found psuedo-neutral ground too valuable to attack."
"Oh, very clever," Dustoff said.
"If you know who to ask, you can find almost anything there, from restricted Mhachian summoning rituals to high quality Nym wards. Which made it perfect for someone hunting raw materials…"
***
"Seven hells, this heat is disgusting," the small miqo'te woman next to 'Copper Dawn, wandering sell-sword' groaned. Compared to the disguised transformer, she wasn't exactly threatening to look at. Barely five fulms tall, with the usual 'humanoid' body structure that was so common across the galaxy, a mess of blue hair on her head with fur covered ears poking out the top, and a similarly fur clad tail at the base of her spine. Even here in Eoreza, a land familiar with the race in question, Countdown had seen more than a few people make the mistake of assuming she was no threat, usually right before the fight started and the axes came out
He merely chuckled, shaking his head. "I did warn you."
"There's a difference between being told, and knowing." Adjusting the cotton robes she was wearing, O'riana Aluph sighed. "But I just had to experience the famous amalj'aa markets for myself. I am now regretting that decision somewhat."
On the other side of the counter, the vendor couldn't help but laugh. "Many people say such things on their first visit. I think they are overreacting, but then, I am amalj'aa," he said with a shrug, an act that showed off the bulky muscled upper body, massive arms, and thick, leathery skin that were the usual for his species. "Ifrit has blessed us to thrive in these lands. I suspect I would not enjoy what you consider to be moderate."
"I suspect you would be correct," she admitted, shaking her head. "But then, the world would be far less interesting if we all possessed the same needs and desires."
"There would be no point in traveling," he agreed. "Very boring." As if summoned by the comment, the sound of festive music caught their attention, as a wagon carrying a band made its way down the street, singing a rather cheerful ballad. "You see? There would be no festivals to enjoy!"
Grinning, Countdown watched as the wagon made its way down the street, pulled by a large yellow bird covered in ribbons and bells, who was preening from all the attention, and clearly believed that the festival was entirely to spoil him, as opposed to showcasing the realms finest musicians. "And we can all agree, that would be a tragedy," he said, turning back to the merchant and handing him a collection of coins. Taking a small cloth bag off the counter, he handed it to Fylgja, who was curled up on top of his backpack, pretending to be nothing more than a familiar of some sort, before saying his farewells to the merchant and continuing on his way down the street.
"If nothing else," the dragon murmured, her eyes locked on the wagon, the tip of her tail twitching in time with the beat, "I know I'd mourn not getting the chance to hear the music of mortals."
Reaching over to pet the dragons head, O'riana chuckled playfully. "It is taking all your willpower to not fly over there and study their instruments, isn't it?"
"Kind of?" she admitted, squirming. The young dragons love of all things music related, and her utter fascination with the instruments the 'mortal races' crafted for the purpose, was well known to all her friends, or anyone who even knew her by association. "They have a flute, but it sounds so different to the ones we heard in Nym!"
"I think that's actually an oboe," O'riana said. "I am told they are very popular in Mhach. To begin with, they're crafted from wood as opposed to metal. And if you look, you can see that they're held differently…"
Countdown let the discussion wash over him as he kept walking, letting it appear to anyone watching that the miqo'te was talking to him, and not the 'familiar' on his back. Instead, he indulged in his favorite pastime, observing the various beings they passed. The sheer diversity of different species on the streets here was unlike almost anything he'd seen in his travels across the galaxy, and everybody just treated it as normal.
Ahead of them, a species that looked like a bipedal rodent of some sort, who didn't even come up to Countdowns thigh, was in deep debate with some kind of large, bulky creature that looked like it had evolved from birds. Across the road, two Elezen, a race similar to the Miqo'te, but with no tail and long pointed ears on the sides of their head, were haggling with another amalj'aa merchant, while behind them, a trio of kobolds, which he could only describe as 'fuzzy', were struggling to unload a wagon.
As they turned a corner, a horn sounded from the south, a single bellow that cut through every other noise. Instantly, the mood on the street shifted, with the shopkeepers trying to usher patrons inside as quickly as possible, while other locals were heading in the direction the sound had come from, a number of them carrying weapons of some sort.
Approaching one of the later group, Countdown caught the man's attention. "What's going on?"
"Watchers on the city wall," the amalj'aa growled. "There's trouble coming." With that, he continued past the disguised transformer and vanished back around the corner. Countdown watched him go, glanced at O'riana, then they all followed him, running through the streets towards the city outskirts.
Zal'na'rak was surrounded by a massive wall of sandstone, a defense against threats both natural and manmade. By the time Countdown reached it, there was at least a dozen amalj'aa in the group ahead, along with several other adventurers of various species alongside him. He raced up the nearest staircase, taking the steps up three at a time, before skidding to a halt at the top, O'riana hissing a vicious curse next to him.
Far in the distance, emerging from behind the sand dunes and hills, was the unmistakable form of an army. Hundreds of men, perhaps more, all moving with clear purpose. Precisely the kind of thing no one wanted to see approaching without warning. And given the level of panic the city guard was displaying, it was obvious they hadn't had any warning either.
"This doesn't make any sense," O'riana hissed as Countdown took her by the arm and guided her away from the stairs before they were trampled by more guards. "Attacking from the south? Even if the Alliance of White wanted to surround Zal'na'rak, they'd need to cross the border and somehow maneuver their way through the Silver Fields, all without being noticed. How could they even manage that?"
"It's not the Alliance," Countdown replied. His companion pulled her gaze away from the distant army to give him an incredulous look, and he shook his head. "Even from here, I can tell it's all wrong for that. Hardly any cavalry, no banners declaring their allegiance, and look at their formation."
A new voice joined the conversation, as an older guard glanced their way. "Thou art more observant than most, mercenary. Even at a glance, one can see that there is no true coordination in their movements. Indeed, 'tis likely that several of them will collide ere they reach the city walls." Rubbing his chin, the Amalj'aa considered the matter. "Nay, no general that could navigate the fields unseen would be so clumsy. This is something else…"
Rummaging around in a bag at her hip, O'riana pulled out a spyglass, flipping it open and holding it up to take a closer look at the approaching army. A moment later, face pale and ears lowering, she handed the tool to Countdown. "Ohhh, Twelve help us now," she whispered.
Pretending to look through the lens, Countdown adjusted his optics, zooming in on the front units. Then he instinctively flinched back slightly, as he was presented with the decayed forms of bodies long dead, flesh rotting away underneath the ragged uniforms of multiple armies, yet all somehow animated with a perverse mockery of life.
"Ah," he said at last, handing the spyglass to Fylgja. "It's going to be that kind of day."
***
Leaning across the table, Rodimus smirked. "So, upon arriving on a distant world of floating islands and fortress moons, and the first thing you did was find a princess who'd snuck out without telling anyone, then the guards sent out to find her? Did you get thrown in a dungeon next, really complete the experience?"
"Ha! No, no, it wasn't nearly that bad," Countdown laughed, waving a hand dismissively. "For one thing, Fylgja isn't a princess. Draconic society doesn't work that way. Her mother, Ratatoskr, was important, yes, mostly because she hatched from one of the seven eggs that Midgardsormr managed to rescue from the Dragonstar, and thus is one of the oldest dragons alive. None of that status passes on to all the children she's had over thousands of years. The only real problem was I was a weird alien with a spaceship that had landed on their island. Heck, the fact I was peacefully talking with Fylgja was actually a point in my favor."
"Okay, fair enough, no dungeon." It was clear that Rodimus was mildly disappointed by that. "So, if they decided you weren't hostile…"
The smaller mech grinned back. "I was a curiosity. And one thing you need to understand about Lady Ratatoskr? She positively adores a good curiosity."
***
It was quickly becoming clear that Dragons didn't see much need for fine architecture. They were perfectly comfortable making their homes in caves and mountains, forcing it to bend to their needs. The massive cavern that Countdown had been brought to had been carved out of the rock by tooth and claw, and probably a lot of fire, over the course of centuries. At a glance, he could see dozens of alcoves, most of them full of dragons in various sizes, looking down at him with obvious fascination.
But he spared them only a glance. In the center of the cavern, there was a raised platform upon which rested an enormous dragon, bigger than any he'd yet seen. Her scales were a deeper red than the others in the cavern, with the marks and scars of time carefully tended to. A long tail curled around the body, making a perfect pillow for her head as she napped. "Mother, we have a guest here to see you," Fylgja announced, her earlier glee now replaced by a nervousness Countdown found rather adorable.
As the massive being stirred, Countdown could feel his outer plating tingle from the sheer power radiating outward, and kept a firm grip on the fear in his spark, even as she regarded him with glowing eyes. "Well now, thou art an interesting surprise," the massive dragon said at last, in a surprisingly gentle voice, even with the cavern amplifying its volume. "A soul wrapped in living metal. I must admit, this is something beyond my ken." She moved forward, head ducking down to inspect Countdown closely. After several seconds, she glanced over to where Fylgja was hovering nervously and laughed lightly, relatively speaking. "Thou always find the most fascinating things daughter. So, what is thy name stranger?"
Smiling politely, he bowed, a deeper and more elaborate bow than the one he'd given Fylgja. "Millady, I am Countdown of Cybertron, Ranger of the Commonwealth, and Captain of the Starship Wayforward." His smile became more playful. "Although honesty compels me to admit, the last title is not as grand as it might seem, what with my being the only crewmember."
That drew a laugh from the dragon, the noise echoing off the walls and making a number of hatchlings take to the air in surprise. Countdown just let the noise wash over him, with all the ease of a micromaster that had spent his life around larger scaled bots. "Such modesty thou have good sir! And yet, a ship that can travel between the stars... Mine father spoke but rarely of the nature of his own, similar trials, but I know tis no simple feat. So I hope thou wouldst be willing to indulge my curiosity, and share your tale."
"Lady Ratatoskr, I would be honored."
***
"I must admit, our people know little of the stars beyond this one," Ratatoskr admitted as she made her way out of the tunnel and into the clearing outside, Countdown following close behind. "Among our kind, only my father would possess the power needed to travel in such desolation. And after the ordeal that brought him here, he would not embark on such a journey again without good reason. If he knows of the threat thy people face, he has never spoken of it with us." Pausing, she looked up at the darkening sky, her expression thoughtful. "He has often called this star the last bastion of hope. Before, I always believed he was speaking in terms of finding safe refuge at last, but now I wonder…"
Lacing his fingers together behind his head, Countdown considered her words for a moment. "Could we ask him?"
She replied with a rumbling noise that he assumed was thoughtful. "I will," she said at last. "If he will meet with thou, I know not. My father is reclusive at the best of times," she added apologetically.
Quickly, he shook his head, waving off the apology. "As a mech whose job means he spends years without talking to anyone in person, I'm certainly in no position to judge."
That earned him an appreciative laugh, as Ratatoskr spread her wings wide. As he watched, the massive dragon indulged in a full body stretch, seemingly working every muscle along her frame, giving a hint as to how much physical power she possessed. "You said that your ship is damaged," she mused, changing topics. "It will take time to repair, I suspect."
"I'd only just begun inspecting the damage when Fylgja found me," Countdown admitted, watching as another island drifted by overhead. In the back of his mind, he made a mental note to look into just how that was possible.
Turning slightly, she considered the smaller being for a moment. "Then for the time being, allow me to offer thou a place to rest and recover."
***
"And so, I became a guest of the Horde for just over a decade, during which I divided most of my time between repairing the Wayforward and exploring the world below." A fond smile slipped onto his face as he thought back to those days. "And let me tell you, that world? Floating islands in the sky are just the beginning. I met over a dozen different sapient races during my time there, and I know of just as many more again."
"Other races taking shelter from the Endsong?" Dustoff mused.
He shook his head. "Nope. Besides the dragons, they're all native. Several clearly share a common ancestor, but not all." Removing the map from the display on the tables holoprojector, he replaced it with a collection of images, showing the various peoples of Etheirys, with labels showing species names. Sure enough, some, like the Hyur, Elezen and Roedagyns, were all similar enough that a common ancestor was possible. Then there were those such as the Sylph, Kojin and Ixal, who were so wildly different they couldn't possibly be related.
"I'm afraid I don't understand?" Ultra Magnus said after several seconds of looking between the various images.
First Aid merely shook his head. "It's an organic biology thing."
"...I'll take your word for it. Although I must ask, it took you a whole decade to repair your ship? Even with a planetary survey to perform, that seems excessive."
Leaning back, Countdown couldn't quite suppress a groan. "At first, I prioritized trying to get the quantum communicator online. Given how long the travel time back to the Commonwealth was, it seemed like the logical option. Actually, that was a complete waste of my time," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I went through so much grief trying to get the raw materials for that, but it just never came together. My best guess is there was some microscopic damage I could never find, but either way, that was countless hours wasted. And it left me with lots of other repairs that could have been done…"
Magnus nodded in sympathy. "Errors in scheduling are never a welcome development."
"I'm guessing you didn't just trip over the Matrix the first time you went looking around for those raw materials," Dustoff said.
"Not even close. Ethereiys was a chaotic place, to put it mildly. In particular, the continent below the dragons domain, Eoreza, was… familiar, in some ways."
***
As a long range exploration ship, the Wayforward came equipped with an array of Sky Spy drones, designed to map out worlds at high altitudes with minimal chance of detection. In this case, Countdown had actually been slightly hesitant to use them. With how the war moon had already seen through his ships' stealth systems, he couldn't help but worry that there were other weapons satellites lying in wait for him. Eventually however, after some discussions with Ratatoskr on the matter, he deployed the drones to map out the world beneath what the Dragons called the Churning Mists.
Now, he stood in the clearing that had become home to his ship, a mobile holoprojector set up, watching as the first images were compiled into a map. Alongside him were Ratatoskr and Fylgja, plus several other dragons of varying size and age, all of whom had varying degrees of interest in seeing the continent known as Eoreza in new ways.
"Wow," Fylgja whispered, flying closer to the massive map taking shape in the air. "This is… Oh, the Loresingers could use this to add pictures to their songs!"
Her mother chuckled. "That is an ambitious idea, daughter. One I shall be certain to mention to them."
Folding his arms over his chest, Countdown considered the image with a thoughtful frown. As the image updated, the Sky Spies AI marking out items of interest and displaying side images, familiar patterns began to emerge. Villages, long abandoned and forgotten. Battlefields where the dead had been left to the elements. The larger cities, hidden behind massive walls lined with guards and weapons. Countless small forts, some at locations intended for defense, while others were lookouts, clearly intended to sound the alarm at best.
Before the Fall, when the Decepticons had made war in an effort to 'unite' all the transformers under their banner, Countdown had been an Autobot Commander. As he looked at the images in front of him, he could feel the familiar dread wrap around his spark. "A cold war, occasionally turning hot," he murmured to himself.
"Huh?" Fylgja asked, turning to look at him.
Ratatoskr nodded her head, her expression becoming much more serious. "Most perceptive Captain. The lands below us are trapped in a war that has been waged for generations, consuming countless lives in a heartless cycle. Ever since the city-state of Mhach first discovered that which would become known as Black Magic. What was at first a tool of defense was quickly warped into a weapon of conquest. The other city-states were forced to develop their own defenses against the expansion, and now, we see how such a path can end." She sighed, wings slumping slightly. "Perhaps the only way it can end. My brother believes that such is the nature of mortals, that their short lives doom them to nothing but a cycle of violence and hatred. That it is all too easy for them to accept the way the world is as all it has always been, that it is the way it should be. I admit, there are times I fear he may be right."
Considering that for a moment, Countdown shuttered his optics. "Mortality isn't the cause of that," he admitted at last, his mind drifting back to Cybertron. Memories of countless battles, horrors, loss… Opening his optics, the mech continued. "Transformers live for so long that some of us believe that no one has ever died of old age. But this?" He gestured at the images being presented to them. "I recognise this from my own past. For a long time, our race was trapped in a seemingly endless war. I won't bother you with the politics, but it grew to the point that pretty much all the nations of our worlds were trapped in it. To the people of this world, we're immortal in every way that matters. But in the end, we still have the same evils in our sparks."
Fylgja looked between the pair, confused as only the young could be. "But you're not evil," she protested, in the tone of voice that insisted such a thing should be obvious.
"No, he is not," Ratatoskr reassured her daughter. "But he speaks truth regardless. The potential for such things exists in all souls, even ours. Envy, hatred, greed, fear… we experience such emotions, just as the mortals do. What matters is having the strength to rise above those temptations, to be stronger." Reaching down, she rubbed her head against her hatchling, who still looked like she didn't quite understand. "Although, now I wonder. Might I ask what happened with your people Captain?"
"An outside problem," he said, knowing Ratatoskr would work out exactly what he meant. "When the ground was literally crumbling under our feet, the would-be conquerors had more important things to worry about. Most of them accepted, however reluctantly, that the only chance for our people to survive the crisis was by working together."
Considering him for a moment, the brood-mother raised an eyeridge. "And were all your people comfortable with offering them that aid?"
That earned her a somewhat bitter laugh in reply. "Not all of us, no. There were a lot of bots that didn't like the idea in the slightest. You're talking to one of them right now." As Fylgja chirped in obvious disbelief, he massaged the back of his neck. "I'd been fighting for a long time. Every time we held out a hand in peace, every last time, they'd cut it off. The thought of doing it again, with so much on the line? Just asking for trouble. First chance they got, they'd do what Decepticons always do, and good people would die. But what was the alternative? Take up arms against our fellow Autobots for their basic decency? None of us were that lost. So we waited for things to go wrong, to make sure all of our people got out of it."
Chuckling to himself, he shook his head. "Except that's not what happened for the most part. Oh, a few of them were stupid, sure, and they were even high ranking 'Cons in some cases. But the majority, and a lot of the rank and file? When the sky was burning, they had more faith that their enemies would help them then in their leaders to save them." Smiling wryly, he shrugged, the earlier bitterness gone. "Having something like that proven beyond a doubt really does shake things up."
"I imagine so," Ratatoskr agreed, before changing the topic slightly. "Given the tensions between the nations of man, we dragons rarely travel to the lands below. But I suspect thou would not prefer such a path."
"Afraid not," he admitted. "I'm the sort of bot that prefers a hands-on investigation. Still, given what you've said about the situation on the ground, it is better I remain relatively unnoticed, at least until I'm reasonably confident I'm the sort of 'Outside Problem' that won't just flip the table." As if demonstrating his point, one of the side displays shifted to an encampment of soldiers being run through training drills. Row after row of men in armor, striking at training dummies with swords, axes and spears. "After all, they might be as welcoming to unexpected guests as your people…"
***
Leaning back in his chair, Rodimus gave the latest set of images a thoughtful look. "Yeah, that looks like the kind of situation where everyone's response to a starship would be 'hey, let's steal it to destroy our enemies.'"
Dustoff sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "With the second response being 'we should attack our enemies now, before they get the ship and destroy us.' So, how exactly did you disguise yourself? Your alt-mode is still the one we had on file for you, so clearly that wasn't it.'
Pushing his chair back, the micromaster stood up, giving everyone a good view of most of his body. As they watched, his body began to shift slightly, panels and components moving to smooth out his profile. Then, as the wheels in his limbs split open and flattened out, hidden compartments in the axles slid open to reveal small crystalline gems that began to glow slightly. A moment later, Countdowns entire form wavered as an image settled over it. It was a carefully crafted illusion of a gray-skinned roedagyn man, the panels of his body made to look like plated armor, with chainmail and fabric underneath. An open helmet shaped like his actual head framed a face dominated by a flattened nose and brilliant blue eyes, with strands of brown hair poking out from under it.
"Ratatoskrs work, for the most part," he admitted as he turned on the spot to give them all a good look. "The crystals in my shoulders have a detailed draconic spell array carved into them, which when power is channeled through them, generates what she likes to call a 'tangible glamor.' It's solid enough, and provides the right kind of feedback to the touch, that it passed casual inspection by local capabilities… um?"
Leaning across the table, Red Alerts optics narrowed as he inspected the illusionary man very closely, with all the laser focus one would expect from a professional paranoid. After a moment, he nodded in satisfaction and sat back down. "Limited effectiveness against infrared and magnetic scans. While I'll need more data before making a final conclusion, I don't see it posing a viable threat to the security of the ship."
"Plus there's the fact that any possible beings that might use it as a method of infiltration are over a vorn away," Rodimus said, resisting the urge to grin at his security chief. He'd take it the wrong way.
"That's no reason not to consider countermeasures," Red pointed out, Magnus nodding in agreement.
"Thankfully, the civilisations of Ethereiys lacked the ability to apply such security precautions," Countdown continued, returning to his seat and deactivating the illusion, the roegadyn form flowing back into the crystals like water. "At least as a wide spread measure. There were some people, besides the dragons, with the ability to see through the glamor, but given that they were people in positions of authority that my investigations were already trying to avoid making contact with until I was certain it was safe to do so…" He waved a hand dismissively. "Anyway, it took about a year before we had the glamor of sufficient quality for field work, at which point I started a more hands-on investigation, combined with resource hunting for ship repairs."
"Judging by the armor your illusion was wearing, I can guess your cover story," Dustoff said, getting a chuckle and nod in reply.
"There's always work for a hired sword in a cold war on the edge of going hot. Still, it could have been worse. Helped a lot of people with wild animal and bandit problems, made some remarkable friends, some of them I even trusted with the truth about where I was from, and even did pretty well in regards to tracking down the rare metals and chemicals I needed… and that was how I ended up on the path to the Matrix."
Plugging back into the desk, he changed the main image back to the map, zooming in on the edge of a large desert. "The Amalj'aa Expanse. Technically allied with Mhach, but by the time I arrived, that was all but non-existent. Mhach had a history of using its allies as expendable slag, because they knew Amdapor wouldn't accept any nation willing to change sides by this point."
"Well isn't that familiar," Rodimus muttered.
"That being said, the amalj'aa people weren't shy about making their feelings known, which led to this." He replaced the map with a rather large settlement, built around and into a mesa. Secondary images, taken inside the city itself, showed streets filled with people from at least a dozen different species, doing business at countless shops and stalls. "Zal'na'rak. The largest free market on the continent. Mhach couldn't get the clans to shut it down, and too many people on the Amdapori side found psuedo-neutral ground too valuable to attack."
"Oh, very clever," Dustoff said.
"If you know who to ask, you can find almost anything there, from restricted Mhachian summoning rituals to high quality Nym wards. Which made it perfect for someone hunting raw materials…"
***
"Seven hells, this heat is disgusting," the small miqo'te woman next to 'Copper Dawn, wandering sell-sword' groaned. Compared to the disguised transformer, she wasn't exactly threatening to look at. Barely five fulms tall, with the usual 'humanoid' body structure that was so common across the galaxy, a mess of blue hair on her head with fur covered ears poking out the top, and a similarly fur clad tail at the base of her spine. Even here in Eoreza, a land familiar with the race in question, Countdown had seen more than a few people make the mistake of assuming she was no threat, usually right before the fight started and the axes came out
He merely chuckled, shaking his head. "I did warn you."
"There's a difference between being told, and knowing." Adjusting the cotton robes she was wearing, O'riana Aluph sighed. "But I just had to experience the famous amalj'aa markets for myself. I am now regretting that decision somewhat."
On the other side of the counter, the vendor couldn't help but laugh. "Many people say such things on their first visit. I think they are overreacting, but then, I am amalj'aa," he said with a shrug, an act that showed off the bulky muscled upper body, massive arms, and thick, leathery skin that were the usual for his species. "Ifrit has blessed us to thrive in these lands. I suspect I would not enjoy what you consider to be moderate."
"I suspect you would be correct," she admitted, shaking her head. "But then, the world would be far less interesting if we all possessed the same needs and desires."
"There would be no point in traveling," he agreed. "Very boring." As if summoned by the comment, the sound of festive music caught their attention, as a wagon carrying a band made its way down the street, singing a rather cheerful ballad. "You see? There would be no festivals to enjoy!"
Grinning, Countdown watched as the wagon made its way down the street, pulled by a large yellow bird covered in ribbons and bells, who was preening from all the attention, and clearly believed that the festival was entirely to spoil him, as opposed to showcasing the realms finest musicians. "And we can all agree, that would be a tragedy," he said, turning back to the merchant and handing him a collection of coins. Taking a small cloth bag off the counter, he handed it to Fylgja, who was curled up on top of his backpack, pretending to be nothing more than a familiar of some sort, before saying his farewells to the merchant and continuing on his way down the street.
"If nothing else," the dragon murmured, her eyes locked on the wagon, the tip of her tail twitching in time with the beat, "I know I'd mourn not getting the chance to hear the music of mortals."
Reaching over to pet the dragons head, O'riana chuckled playfully. "It is taking all your willpower to not fly over there and study their instruments, isn't it?"
"Kind of?" she admitted, squirming. The young dragons love of all things music related, and her utter fascination with the instruments the 'mortal races' crafted for the purpose, was well known to all her friends, or anyone who even knew her by association. "They have a flute, but it sounds so different to the ones we heard in Nym!"
"I think that's actually an oboe," O'riana said. "I am told they are very popular in Mhach. To begin with, they're crafted from wood as opposed to metal. And if you look, you can see that they're held differently…"
Countdown let the discussion wash over him as he kept walking, letting it appear to anyone watching that the miqo'te was talking to him, and not the 'familiar' on his back. Instead, he indulged in his favorite pastime, observing the various beings they passed. The sheer diversity of different species on the streets here was unlike almost anything he'd seen in his travels across the galaxy, and everybody just treated it as normal.
Ahead of them, a species that looked like a bipedal rodent of some sort, who didn't even come up to Countdowns thigh, was in deep debate with some kind of large, bulky creature that looked like it had evolved from birds. Across the road, two Elezen, a race similar to the Miqo'te, but with no tail and long pointed ears on the sides of their head, were haggling with another amalj'aa merchant, while behind them, a trio of kobolds, which he could only describe as 'fuzzy', were struggling to unload a wagon.
As they turned a corner, a horn sounded from the south, a single bellow that cut through every other noise. Instantly, the mood on the street shifted, with the shopkeepers trying to usher patrons inside as quickly as possible, while other locals were heading in the direction the sound had come from, a number of them carrying weapons of some sort.
Approaching one of the later group, Countdown caught the man's attention. "What's going on?"
"Watchers on the city wall," the amalj'aa growled. "There's trouble coming." With that, he continued past the disguised transformer and vanished back around the corner. Countdown watched him go, glanced at O'riana, then they all followed him, running through the streets towards the city outskirts.
Zal'na'rak was surrounded by a massive wall of sandstone, a defense against threats both natural and manmade. By the time Countdown reached it, there was at least a dozen amalj'aa in the group ahead, along with several other adventurers of various species alongside him. He raced up the nearest staircase, taking the steps up three at a time, before skidding to a halt at the top, O'riana hissing a vicious curse next to him.
Far in the distance, emerging from behind the sand dunes and hills, was the unmistakable form of an army. Hundreds of men, perhaps more, all moving with clear purpose. Precisely the kind of thing no one wanted to see approaching without warning. And given the level of panic the city guard was displaying, it was obvious they hadn't had any warning either.
"This doesn't make any sense," O'riana hissed as Countdown took her by the arm and guided her away from the stairs before they were trampled by more guards. "Attacking from the south? Even if the Alliance of White wanted to surround Zal'na'rak, they'd need to cross the border and somehow maneuver their way through the Silver Fields, all without being noticed. How could they even manage that?"
"It's not the Alliance," Countdown replied. His companion pulled her gaze away from the distant army to give him an incredulous look, and he shook his head. "Even from here, I can tell it's all wrong for that. Hardly any cavalry, no banners declaring their allegiance, and look at their formation."
A new voice joined the conversation, as an older guard glanced their way. "Thou art more observant than most, mercenary. Even at a glance, one can see that there is no true coordination in their movements. Indeed, 'tis likely that several of them will collide ere they reach the city walls." Rubbing his chin, the Amalj'aa considered the matter. "Nay, no general that could navigate the fields unseen would be so clumsy. This is something else…"
Rummaging around in a bag at her hip, O'riana pulled out a spyglass, flipping it open and holding it up to take a closer look at the approaching army. A moment later, face pale and ears lowering, she handed the tool to Countdown. "Ohhh, Twelve help us now," she whispered.
Pretending to look through the lens, Countdown adjusted his optics, zooming in on the front units. Then he instinctively flinched back slightly, as he was presented with the decayed forms of bodies long dead, flesh rotting away underneath the ragged uniforms of multiple armies, yet all somehow animated with a perverse mockery of life.
"Ah," he said at last, handing the spyglass to Fylgja. "It's going to be that kind of day."
***
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