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Lady Macbeth, pt 1 (PG)
by BluePard (bluepard@buffnet.net)

A scout ship floated quickly through the galaxy. Its fuel was only enough to keep it steadily in the direction the pilots wanted, and to redirect it whenever it was pelted with asteroids and space debris. The blazon on its side was marred with dings, barely recognizable as the same symbol which graced Panthera's upper arm. One of those inside the vessel was frantically pulling at the controls with one hand, pushing buttons with another, and clawing through some manual with his toes. The other inhabitant was hyperventilating, and laughing eerily.

"I...." She half laughed, half whimpered. "I... thought you could fl..ly one of theeeese," She attempted to stop shaking, clutching her head and pulling out some of her hair, just as a diversion.

"I thought I could too," he said, clacking instead of shaking, "I mean, just because I hadn't passed the tests.... I'm supposed to fly war ships, but they all ought to be the same..."

The smaller one caught her knees, rocking back and forth, her fear overriding her sarcasm.

"It's okay," he reassured her, "We're almost there, according to this... stuff."

"Um, good.... you do know how to land, riight?"

He looked up from his reading a moment. "Um... do you think you could fly this thing awhile?"

"You don't..." she snapped, her breath caught short as they were both sent reeling, their hull breached as they swerved through a ring of asteroids, barreling through most instead of around.

"Nevermind... I think the landing gear's gone, anyway." He said, his beak clacking moreso than ever as they rolled out of the belt and were pulled in by the mass of a small, blue-green planet. She didn't respond, falling to the floor in an effort to keep her lunch down. She fastened her seat belt tightly and began gnawing on the end.

"There's something heading this way," said Rhinox, pointing with of his thick digits at the computer screen, "Too stable for a meteoroid, but with a very natural falling path."

"So, what is it?" said Optimus, leaning over Rhinox's shoulder to the point where his faceplate was nearly touching the digital data.

"I'd say a broken ship; its guidance systems off-line from the looks of it."

Optimus rubbed his grey chin for a second as Panthera's yellow eyes shined from with-out the light. They glowed very slightly green; not much because of the odd light in the base, but still, a ghostly wisp. She shivered a bit from outside the room, though inside was where her hopes laid. If she was disappointed now... she would get over it. She always had, could, would. But it wouldn't be pleasant. Still, the ache in her vitals was much less so, the razor that cut her from within only sharper by the day. She strolled casually up beside them, laying her paws on the terminal.

"Try firing a quasar pulse at it, frequency o-point-six."

"Why?"

"Do it. It's a test." She narrowed her eyes at them, wondering if they hadn't realized yet that she was not Ms. Exposition. "You'll be no worse if you do, will you?"

Optimus shook his head, but he couldn't find any reason for Panthera to deceive them here. He gestured Rhinox to proceed.

Rhinox moved the edges of his eyes enough to convey some message to Optimus, one Panthera surely wouldn't approve of. He nevertheless obeyed, striking the object with a purely harmless pulse. Panthera flipped a switch to another screen, getting a sharp look from Rhinox, one lost as the image turned a brilliant, unnatural violet from the echo.

"What was that?" said Rhinox, his brows knitted, not noticing the others enter. Panthera's eyes glazed a bit, and soon she was in robot form, since those eyes could not tear.

"Don't you see- don't you see- don't you see?" she asked, her grin somehow startling. "It's Proxian, Proxian, Proxian; I'm going home! They're here, they're here, they're here!" She laughed in a way they hadn't heard before- without malice- twirling around the room. She picked Rattrap up, tossing him into the air and actually catching him again, twirling the rat in a circle before setting him down again with only a small bump. She twirled Dinobot as though they were playing ring around the rosy, until he managed to pull his hands gruffly away. She grabbed Cheetor 'round the waist, dipping him to the floor, and pulled him back up with his logic circuits swimming. Destroying the last of her image, she jumped backwards into the nearest chair, twirling around, staring at the ceiling, humming a Proxian ballad with a smile on her face. All the Maximals were doing the same double-take, eyebrows raised. Panthera didn't even have to look up to know their expressions.

"Don't you see?" she asked, literally purring, "I'm free, I'm done, I'm outta here. I'll be rescued, off to Proximis, you idgets can doiter around your silly Cybertron, those Preds can rot away in some stinkin' inferno. Most important- I'm off to Proximis. Proximis Proximis Proximis. Home home home. I can sip a chocolate energon milkshake for the first time- I can see the Light. The Light. I'm going home, guys. Home."

"Panthera, that ship is badly damaged... be realistic." said Optimus, not wanting to see what Panthera's reaction to so great a disappointment would be.

"I am being realistic. You don't know Proxian politics- there is no way this ship won't have backup. If only as disaster relief." She purred, her eyes and her mind closed.

Optimus looked at each face in turn, but he didn't know what he was looking for, and he didn't find it. He sighed, pulling himself back on track.

"The Predacons will be after that ship." he said, hoping Panthera could hear through her humming, "Damaged or not, it's still valuable. And I'm sure those inside are expendable."

Panthera stopped twirling, sitting bolt upright, all remnants of her happy attitude gone. "In this situation, yes, the ship would be worth more than any Proxians inside, but in any other case," She shook her head with disgust. "The carcass of my own person is worth far more crystals than this slagheap you call a ship ever was." She growled a little, ignoring the startled looks, not even bothering to wonder that they did not know the high price on a Proxian head.

"I'm going to meet them," she said, pouncing into beast mode, "You coming?"

IDA the mysterious one of the red coat and the deep blue eyes with deeper intentions padded softly, unseen, cloaked as she always was except when twisting lies and throwing wrenches. She waltzed in and around the upright, crude pillars of the Standing Stones.

Crude in appearance, yes... but so is an A-bomb.

She blinked slowly, brushing her palm experimentally against the rough stone. She had better senses than touch, but sometimes they missed the more simple things.

Am I implying these aliens are simple? No, there are no clues by tactile means...

She peered inside the monuments. There were no clues there either... apparently these stones had already fulfilled their purpose.

While I was traipsing about with one of my many other projects. Lovely. These aliens are very new, I assumed leaving for a couple hundred years would change nothing... and that this planet had not changed, or I would have reconsidered allowing these other foreigners here.

And then she had the stupidity to wander off again-- it had been an emergency, but she should have somehow taken tabs... the amount of watching a planet devoid of sentient life needed was very minimal, especially when compared to the chore of molding an inhabited one. It could be shaped for later purposes on a leisurely scale. Here she had thought she finally had the time free to use this resource...

And another situation blows up in my face. Ah well, I don't know everything... getting there, though.

How she wished to drive these aliens-- the unknown ones, whom she had not invited-- away, destroying their outposts here. The longer she left them functional, the more information they gathered, the harder the final battle would be. If only she had some idea whom she was dealing with, she could assault their home planet and put them on the defensive. She always preferred offense, herself...

And here I am, playing goalie, trying to protect the net and at the same time not get my teeth knocked out.

Now that was a nice analogy. It almost warmed her a second, the thought of her noble facade grinning with buck teeth-- but, in another moment, her thoughts were on the serious, without her even coming close to cracking that grin.

They will come. Someday, they will finish their present projects and investigate this mystery, as I have. I can only hope they are not one of my kind, though they play the part well. Bach, amateurs. This is my planet, my plans, my web to weave. And I am the only one here who knows which threads are not sticky, and are safe to tread upon... and only I choose who flies again.

She turned her back on the reminders of the challenge.

Still... this is a land of learning. They will disrupt it, and my studies. I will continue as before, and wait for the fly to come to me. Until then... I believe new players are joining the game, and it is my task to dole out the pieces...

Echo did a distinct double-take at the flash that lit up the sky even in day, like a jet. Still, instead of a tail of exhaust, it had a tail of pure light, pure friction. And much too large to be a stasis pod. Even she could tell that, having seen her aquiline comrade come down.

"It's a ship," she said, both to Silverbolt and Megatron as she flipped a channel open. "We've got a ship coming down, Delta sector, in the energon plains. Neutral territory..."

"A ship? Are you sure?" Silverbolt asked, his ear cocked to the sky.

"Hey, it's got a tail at least fifty meters long. That's something at least reasonably big up there..."

"A ship... yessss.... Predacon or Maximal... or neither..." Megatron switched open all channels, "Report to Delta sector, now. We'll leave the automated defenses on... where is it coming down?"

"Hard to say, but once you're in the sector you can follow your optics."

"Good. All of you, leave immediately. The Maximals will not ally that ship unhindered, no!"

Echo switched off the channel, rolling her tiny eyes. He has some flair for the dramatic....

"Let's go. Looks like we may have newcomers to rescue- or new enemies to battle." She turned to Silverbolt only to see him already on his way, from his distance he had left immediately at Megatron's orders. Echo shook her head with a sigh- was he too naive, or she too distrusting- and took to the wing herself, her eyes slits in the light of the harsh red sun.

Day dawned, as it had a habit of doing.

Indeed, it had been dawning quite some time now, and the light was affecting the eyes of all sides- especially Panthera, up past her bedtime, but grinning like a hatter, the red/purple reflecting off her new color eerily, like he underside of someone's tongue.

Panthera's tongue was, strangely, not sticking through her teeth. She hadn't the energon to put her logical gears to grinding faster. Brawn was knit into her stomach, fighting that within rather than that without. But from her expression, she was sure no one could tell. That the Maximals were noticing her sudden need of a hearing aid, she was also sure.

Oh, dear Light... another hour, another day, another week. Light, they're coming. If I can just hang on, let the mechanical surgeons have at me and I'll be sipping energon pina coladas like I'd never been through this. Please, Night, Day, Light, Dark, Wreath, Lightwing, all of Proximis and all of Libra-- time, time, a little time will do so much, one can die in a second, less....

Her brow knit in concern as her shoulders hunched slightly. She recovered in a moment, barely able to keep watch for the enemies she knew were coming with her eyes on the sky as it was. She had a brief vision of the ship crashing into them all, destroying all of all sides, and the wild things reclaiming their bodies and their land... she shook it away.

By the Wreath... Lightwing guide that pilot. May his skill flow into that pilot, Lightwing's hands become their hands, Lightwing's skill become their skill... on second thought, he might of been a lousy pilot. Maybe that's why they crashed...

The sound of an energy weapon came to her.

Panthera was instantly in bot form, her sand shooter drawn, held at arm's length towards the sound of the blast- out of view. She jogged over to the sight, cementing Tarantulus to the ground with a couple well-placed shots before they were aware of her. But once they were, she was a massive target as she ducked behind the cliffs, which shattered, raining down on the Maximals below.

Can't have that... they get knocked out of it and I'll have no way to protect the Proxians in that ship-- they could all be knocked unconscious by the crash, possibly some in stasis- a few Proxians with those criminal's programming... Light, I so do not need that... Leaving Rhinox back at the base, that was smart, we could use those killer chain-guns right now!

Panthera fired a few volleys at the skies, only managing to splatter Waspinator slightly with her missile. That annoying buzz... wait a second, what was that?

Panthera and the rest of them turned their eyes back to the skies just a bit late. Panthera jumped out of the danger path so frantically she found herself hanging half off the cliff, looking terrified over her shoulder.

With a scream like a Questing Beast the ship flew apart, rending the ground and itself, stirring up the earth, scarring metal, ripping its own circuitry to pieces which bled like a fountain pen. It wound down, coughing out its last whirrs of activity before it settled, the earth a heavy blanket, asphyxiating it. Yet still a scream sounded, be the metal silent.

"Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiii! You moron! I thought you could fly this thing! We could have been killed, my pump's trying to choke off my air, I can feel the freakin' energon busting my valves as we speak!" And, through this, a clanking sound of two hard, metallic chunks being bashed together from an unknown source.

"Fi - na - gle - I - did - n't - mean - to - do - it!" Came the reply- with "clanks" in-between syllables making it clear what thick, hollow structure was being so ill-treated. "I - thought - I - did - know! - 'Sides - you'd - just - 'ave - worried - an - y - way!"

"Oh, for Lightwing's sake...!" yelled Panthera, kneading her forehead with expectation, glancing at both Predacon and Maximal, all eyes on the ship.

The clanking abruptly halted, leaving a sudden silence which only made them jump higher when something rammed into the side of the vessel from inside. What was once the door crumpled outwards, accompanied by the last spurtings of wiring, lashing, living whips. In a collapsed pile on top of it all was a blue-necked, white-winged gryphon, gray-blue rosettes dappling his hide and the tops of his wings. He cocked his ears, which seemed pasted to the sides of his skull as an afterthought, and curved his neck towards the Maximals. He was accompanied by a small, wingless eastern dragon. She was apparently hugging that noble neck, but was more likely attempting to strangle it and couldn't fit her hands all the way 'round.

The gryphon was ignoring her, not even seeming to notice her as he gaped a smile and cried out in textbook happiness, "Arcane!"

In a bound and a few helpful wing beats he was in the air.

"Nonono--!" Panthera said, having just pulled herself away from the cliff and not quite far enough from it to be safe. She was tackled nonetheless, rolling a short distance before she stopped, her head spinning. As she determined which way was up she found herself in a strangling hug, her one arm awkwardly forced above her head while the other was at her side.

"Why couldn't I be best friends with a stoic..." she mumbled, far too incoherent for even Finagle's sharp auditory circuits.

"Arcane!" yelped Patroclus, still wearing Finagle around his neck like a very odd bit of jewelry, "You're alive! Group hug!"

He pulled Finagle into the hug, allowing Panthera to shift her arms into a more comfortable position before being enveloped in loving arms once again.

"Patroclus, we're in the middle of a battle!"

"Battle? Where?"

He cocked his head over the cliff, noting the drawn weapons. He loosened his grip, glaring down at his fellow robots a second, gathering his anger, talons clenching and twitching as though in anticipation of rent flesh.

"Patroclus, metamize!" He creed into the air, leaping up, his wings giving one flap before folding into his chest and jets. Soon his gryphonic head was at his side, replaced by a helmeted and pinfeathered visage which withdrew from his chest. His taloned hands, still taloned, still twitched. His aerodynamic build was complete from his beaked "nose" to the hot red flames painted up his legs. On his belly was the symbol of Proximis, a fiery sun and moon, with his Nightworker's crescent looming over the two, proclaiming his allegiance like a bull's eye.

He cried into the air again, this time a loud, gryphonic scree which woke both sides from their trance. His former head was now held tightly in his hand, its mouth agape, its ears back in a fit of rage. It was ready to release a blast upon those below when Panthera grabbed its barrel, turning it to the skies.

"Shoot them," She said, pointing to the Predacons. "And you don't shoot the bottom of the cliff when we're standing at the top."

Patroclus gave a nervous grin which dropped from his face as fire rained on them. Finagle predictably dropped into a ball, shutting her eyes until the red of her own eyelids blinded her.

Patroclus stepped onto a large boulder, making himself an easy target. He held his disruption cannon at arms length, as though even he was afraid of what it could do, and screamed.

"Death to.." He blinked. "...you guys!!"

Inferno rolled out of the way just as the metallic light fell upon the area where he had stood. One foot, caught in the beam's way, promptly dissolved into the many liquid machines from whence he was born. He fell onto his side with horror as the stuff of protoforms sparked from the energon.

"Whoa... hand-held disruption volts! Now that's convenient!" Rattrap grinned, firing a few on the Predacons as they dodged behind boulders. Patroclus was screaming with all his lungs words that his enemy could not translate. He jumped down from the ledge, landing with a jolt that knocked over Cheetor, he sent rounds in the Predacon's direction. They dodged them all, but were so focused on the noisy newcomer they forgot the Maximals, and ended up blasted anyway.

"Retreat!" screamed Megatron as Inferno gathered the protoform liquid that slipped through his fingers like sands of an hourglass. The Predacons were gone in a second, only barely remembering to drag Tarantulus along with them.

Panthera tapped Finagle on the shoulder, whispering to her as she uncovered her ears. "And he didn't even go into battle fury... he's getting better at this." Panthera sighed, smiling.

"Good work... whoever you are." Optimus said, cautiously patting Pattie on the back, "Speaking of which... who are you?"

"Petand?"

"Uhh... you're name's Petand?" said Cheetor, finally getting up. He glanced at the blazon on Patroclus' belly. "You a Proxian?"

"Arcane, petand de sali gara?"

"They asked," Panthera said in Proximese, picking up Finagle and jumping down with her, "What your name is, and if you're Proxian. Don't worry, I'll translate. You guys'll have to learn English, though, no one hear speaks Proximese."

"What cave have they been living in?" Patroclus said, grinning with the knowledge that they didn't understand what he just said.

Panthera ignored him, as usual, addressing the Maximals in the tongue foreign to her. "His name's Patroclus, and she's Finagle. They're old friends of mine, from Vicinis. And they don't speak English."

"What cave have they been living in?" said Rattrap.

Panthera shook her head. "No one on Proximis expects to ever leave Proximis-- therefore only leaders and leaders-in-training are taught other languages. Actually... they might know ancient Vicinese, but I somehow doubt you do."

"Ehh, friends of yours... no wonder they're ignorant." Rattrap said.

"You want me to translate that?" Panthera raised an eyebrow, gesturing towards Pattie's disruptor cannon, and taking the silence as a no. "Then we'll be off..."

"What?" Optimus said.

"I haven't seen these guys in a year, and I have a feeling I've missed some things. 'Sides, they need to know what's going on.... just don't fiddle with the ship." Panthera turned her voice to frost with a click. She paced towards the remains of the ship with her friends before the Maximals could respond.

"Now, that was embarrassing..." said Blackarachnia, trotting ahead of her leader.

Megatron grimaced. "They had the surprise of a new weapon... and we were outnumbered. Now we can prepare, and next time they will not be so lucky... two new Proxians. One of whom is small, and weak.... but would be worth it merely for her abilities. And the second seems a complete twit, but a worthy warrior." His eyes strayed to Inferno a moment, as though comparing. "As for Echo..." He flipped open a channel. "Explain yourself! Silverbolt is here, and you were with him.... why were you absent from the battlefield?"

"I'm flying straight at the sun, and you know my eyes! Had to go on foot, I'm still no where near the landing site... I missed the party?"

"And much else. Report back to base. From now on you fly only night patrols." He flipped off the channel, muttering to himself, "At least you'll need a new excuse...."

Silverbolt shivered a bit, though not from the wind playing through his gray fur. He had heard that. She was right, they did not accept her. He wondered if Echo should hear of this... but then again, she was an outsider. All his comrades treated her as such, perhaps he was wrong, naive... he knew he was naive. But was he being so in this case? He shook his head, gliding above his "comrades". He was closer to Echo than to any of them, but he was easily fooled, perhaps they saw something he missed....

Silverbolt dropped down next to Megatron, folding his wings. His heart felt much too heavy for them to hold him.

Finagle didn't believe it, any of it. But Arcane never lied.... still, she was lying just by pretending to be the Panthera Pardus person whom she wasn't.

The small ship wasn't too much of a pain to haul, and would have been less, had Patroclus not been doubling over so much... he muttered of uphill sit-ups, but Finagle had not done a one yesterday and felt the same. Arcane had pulled them out here the second they reached the base, for a "private" chat, and she was now bringing them up on all that had happened in her short and dangerous stay on the planet.

"....and I was doing all but have seizures when she took Silverbolt away. Of course, the Maximals blame me for making a bad impression on them both."

"I'm not surprised..." said Finagle her voice high, "How could you do this... any of this?"

"What do you mean?"

Patroclus had been pacing with his shy beak trailing the ground. A few mumbled words came from it, unintelligible to Panthera, surely, but Finagle heard them. "You're acting like Finagle.... only scarier...."

"Arcane, I don't care what sort of tough impression you think you put on everyone back on Vicinis, but everyone knew you were fair, and cared, and respected you the more. What are you doing here?"

"I don't know... I think I just fell out of the sky...."

"No, I mean.... what are you doing here? This isn't you! Mocking someone for their beliefs.... "

Panthera shrugged. Finagle growled slightly, wagging a taloned claw in Panthera's face. "Don't you do that. A shrug could mean you don't know or care, or it could mean you have an itch between your shoulder blades. No ambiguity. We know all your tricks, remember? Surprised the Maximals haven't picked up on them...."

Panthera didn't answer. She paced along, her panther shoulders forming waves across her silhouette as she walked. The silence grew on them, separating those who had missed each other so much, in fact, missed each other more now that they were so close to being together yet in reality so far apart. Panthera was not picking up her feet as well as she ought--- making far more noise than usual. Finagle turned her head just enough to allow her mane to shield her eyes from both her friends. Patroclus shook just a tiny bit as he put talon to earth.

"Cold, Pattie?" said Panthera, fixing those staring, golden eyes on her friend, which seemed to make even him nervous.

"Home-sickness, more like it," Finagle sighed, at least having something to say, now. "I've got the same. Hurts like the second week on Vicinis... after we were all put back together."

Panthera just nodded, as though she weren't surprised. She stared at the ground nervously a few seconds, something which made Finagle watch her... friend? ...more closely than ever. Arcane was not the nervous type.

"You know..." she said slowly, testing the waters for sharks, "..there just may be a way to get around that."

Finagle blinked. "What?"

"I could, possibly, remove the AHS program...."

"Is that legal?!" Finagle took a quick sidelong glance at Pattie. "Or safe?"

"Officially, it's illegal on Proximis. But we aren't on Proximis, and this'll just be a survival measure.... it's just as easy to replace it. We just have to alert them to the fact that we're missing the chip before we land on Proximis, that's all." Panthera sighed. "And it is very dangerous... but AHS is sure death, so the odds are in our favor..."

Finagle finally drew her eyes away from Panthera, studying her feet instead.

Pretty toes, what pretty toes...

"Arcane..." She tested the word, after so long gone from her tongue. "...do you have your AHS programming?"

Panthera nodded. "....very advanced AHS. I have to bathe my internals in all non-essential energon to help keep them strong, slow down the process. I came up with the idea because of that... but my computer is down. It's the only way I can operate on myself. I can still help you two, though..."

Finagle continued walking, her two larger companions following. She couldn't let the pain in her gut do the thinking... if this was traitorous, she couldn't do it. But still, if Arcane really thought it wasn't... Finagle raised her head a moment, watching the gray leopard carefully.

"You know, I just realized you don't have spots." Finagle commented out of nowhere. "It's the oddest thing... you're... you were a true black panther." She shook her head, freeing herself of the tangent. "You look really odd, you know that?"

"Thanks for the ego boost. No, thank IDA."

"Hmmm.... judging from that lovely... and light ...shade of grey I'd say you're not being very virtuous lately, at least not in her eyes. Or mine..."

"What? What have I done wrong?"

Finagle gave Panthera another look --- asking questions in response to them was one way of deception. Questions could not be lies -- and Panthera counted on it, and both her closest friends knew it. She knew they knew it. So why must they always go through this?

"No.... more... questions, Arcane. I haven't... we haven't seen you for so long. We're not a bunch of idiotic Cybertrons.... we're Proxian. You can tell us, anything, you know that."

Yes, you do know that. And you know if you use another trick I'll throttle you...

"And, besides... if you don't tell me I'll just guess. I'm not a programmer for nothing...."

Programmer and psychologist. Judging from what you've told me, you're quite the shrink yourself.

Finagle carried the attitude of a jet fighter in her alloyed chest. Panthera seemed in shame.... most likely thinking. And the lack of energon was obvious in the slow turning of her gears.

Okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay.... leave it to me. Better yet, leave it to another time.... how can I think with this pain in my gut? Dear Arcane, you better know your politics....

"Forget it. Drop it, Arcane. We have plenty of time to talk, and I'm not going to force you." She sighed. "We're your friends, Arcane. Remember that. But, for the moment... just... make the hurting stop, okay?"

Beast Wars and all related belong to Hasbro. The story, its original contents and ideas, and any original characters belong to the author and cannot be used or reprinted without the author's permission.

Lady Macbeth, pt 2 (PG)
by BluePard (bluepard@buffnet.net)

Panthera paced down another corridor, like those which echoed Echo's sorrows, like that in which she had contemplated her next disappointment. This was a familiar walkway, coarse, hewn earth, so unlike the mechanical prisons both Maximal and Cybertron built for themselves.

"Take me to Proximis, home of Day and Night..." she mumbled out of sheer habit. Her computer was still down, and the ache spread from the lengths of her guts, so cramp she swore she felt squirming maggots propagating there, beneath her suddenly hallow ribs.

At least her friends were exempt from the torture. It had been a relatively simple matter to have Finagle go off-line while Patroclus watched their backs -- she was somewhat more edgy about Finagle on watch to protect an unconscious idiot and a preoccupied invalid -- but now the horror was over, for them, anyway. The thought of traitorism was haunting their minds now, she knew, as it had haunted hers. She listened to their fears silently, her eyes deep in theirs, telling them that she would take any blame. She should have said it aloud and let her eyes rest, but she felt they should realize... weren't they best friends?

She shook her head. A year ago, more, they had been. But to have them here was a smack in the face for her.

Finagle thinks I'm being rash.... well.... rash actions for fast fears.

Slaggit, Finagle was so good at picking information from the air. Patroclus held the brawn, Panthera the bluff, and Finagle the ability. Or so Panthera saw it.

That I can threaten and push my weight around when this sickness has stripped my bones clean.... no wonder everyone thinks Cybertrons are idiots.

Not that there were any good examples of intelligent Cybertrons on Vicinis... those who were there were long left to dire straits and wit had certainly not helped them. Afterburner came once again readily to mind, the snub-nosed Decepticon was as blunt as steel rod.

He insults Moonlight herself... talks down to her... compares her to me...

Afterburner was a one-eyed soldier, a simple type, and not the best representative of his kind.

Then again, maybe they just evolved a lot in three hundred years... or Afterburner got hit in the head with something... okay, we have a winner...

Panthera smiled to herself in her fatigue. A sigh quickly parted the smile, though, for no lake was left absent of a skipping stone.

In the corner a green thing whirred into life. Not a plant, though a growing thing, it flickered with light, drawing the attention of its owner.

An organic computer, a small one, though it held much knowledge. A year's, to be true. The automated reactions left on several planets guarded them, tested any who would walked across them, if not subtly. Last time, this particular transmission brought word of inhabitants on one small, blue-green planet on the outer reaches of the galaxy. The tests run there should wield valuable information.

Someone worked side by side at these machines, deep, where no one knew. It set itself before the computer again, which sensed its presence, and began the story. There was something urgent this time-- but, as always, it would wait until the end to view this new revelation. It liked the challenge of trying to piece together the anomaly from the rest of the data, though it never succeeded.

The tests were run without fail-- it ignored the data, logging it for future study. Most of the results would be unknown, and very valuable. It and its kindred had pondered over these answers, and now they would see if they were right. Something more important than this data, though.... it continued scanning.

They were still fighting, obviously. Two of the Predacons gone, one of the Maximals-- for a long time, before two new Predacons reappeared... it had known without looking that it was the Maximals who had let the advantage sit for so long. They did not want to destroy, and so more was destroyed. They did not understand the lesser of two evils, they thought it cold. A mistake, and a large one.

It shook its head. Strange anomalies... it would have to review the important data. And so it did, optics wide... Proxians. Two Proxians. On the planet. One dead, one the killer. But Proxians. Its thoughts halted, amazed. It knew all the Proxians off of Proximis... and it quickly narrowed the names down to two. Even if it is the traitor which lives, even then... Proxian and Cybertron mingling? I must keep guard, I must prepare... There were other anomalies still left unexplained, all the more reason to explore them! It left the consul's side, stepping out, up, and realizing, in a flash of brilliance, that someone already was preparing...

Pattie smiled down on the harsh landscape. Finagle was a scurrying green line beneath him, visible only because of her fiery red mane. She wanted him to walk beside her, even carry her, but after so long cooped up he wanted nothing more than to stretch his wings along the breadth of the skies. He pulled his wings up a second, stalling, just so he could pull a stretch as complete as a cat's, though including wings. He circled tightly to keep from losing Finagle, and for his own pleasure. To be one with the skies again- and so he was, with his mainly blue underside, he was merely a figment of the wind until a chance cloud loomed behind him, and even then he seemed to be just a wisp where the sky shone through.

Eyes on the road.

Arcane was nowhere in sight, yet, but then, he wasn't looking for her. He was still used to Arcane being black, and thus, invisible. She would be seen when she wanted to be seen, no sooner. Now he only had to watch over Finagle, and enjoy the passing sensation of the warm sun on his wings....

"Johnny crack corn, and I don't care....." he sang, picking it out of the air as he flew by it, "Johnny crack corn..."

A blast ricocheted by his eardrums, he turned to see, but his wing was blown back, into the sky. He was forced into a vertical stand for a brief microclick, his wing afire, feathers tickling at his nostrils, before he fell. His left wing was helpless above him, collapsed into a position only a pelican could hold, which was entirely unnatural for him. His right wing buffeted him in the face before he tumbled onto his back and over and over, unable to pull himself away, supremely unbalanced, the soft cushion which had so supported him a moment before yanked from him, and the ground so far away....

He screamed, unable to do anything but. He was nose-diving now, he tried to slow himself by extending his one good wing, but that sent him into such turnings he had to press it close and stand the acceleration instead. That acceleration was tearing his left wing apart, it was limp and rolled along the wind like a limp celery stalk; he was able to do nothing but feel the pain. His tufted ears stripped of their feathers, his talons numb, his legs and tail aching with the effort of trying to stable himself.

There, before him, was the ground, he knew not how close, but too close now, though it had seemed so distant a few seconds, minutes, lifetimes ago. It was monstrously detailed to his eagle's eyes, so many bumps and crevices that he unable to comprehend, like seeing every single leaf of a great oak it was too much, so much, so great his senses at that moment that it frightened him far more than the prospect of hitting that ground, so far harder than leaves...

Hmmm.... that's odd. That didn't hurt at all. A blink. Wait a second...

He hit the ground, ground no more, but sandpaper, a grate, a row of razors. Unable to open his eyes his mind's eye took over, which showed him skidding across the dusty cheese grater, leaving a thick pool of red behind. He didn't feel it, he knew it, and he could only thank the Light for that though he was numbed beyond it all. He thought he stopped, finally, but couldn't tell. The last thing he sensed was the gritty taste of dirt as his tongue hit the ground, and the last thing he thought was how silly he must look.

Finagle wanted to scream Patroclus' name like a cliched cartoon, but her throat closed on her, her lungs tight to the point of painful raisins. She dashed to him, stopping a dozen yards away, afraid to see him. And, she noticed suddenly, beyond his immobile form were the Predacons, weapons drawn, but holding their fire for some reason her frozen mind couldn't determine. Their features were obscured by the sun behind them which masked them in darkness, and made Finagle blink. She shook a bit, even as a soft grey shadow stepped between her and the sun.

Panthera drew her weapon. At her arrival whatever held the Predacons at bay withdrew, and they fired rounds all at the tall young Proxian, which she returned.

Only Megatron, Blackarachnia and Waspinator were there; they had had to make their shots count. And they had... Patroclus was down and unconscious, and with a few trained shots Waspinator followed him.

Blackarachnia dodged the flak of Waspinator's torn carcass, unleashing a barrage of shots which Panthera could only stand and take, shielding Patroclus and her eyes. She glanced backwards a moment-- Finagle was still standing behind her, frozen, and Panthera could not move without leaving Patroclus open to oncoming fire. She bared Blackarachnia's fire for another moment while she tediously pulled her slicing bow free and, unable to look, fired blindly towards the source of the shots, rewarded with a spider's scream.

She screamed herself. "Get him under cov--"

And with that the gathered energy of Megatron's weapon was released, striking Panthera down, Finagle barely collecting herself enough to dodge the falling form. In a matter of minutes two Predacons and two Proxians had fallen, leaving the largest to face the smallest.

Panthera lay with her face hidden, her own mech fluid certainly marring it. Patroclus was caked with mud and blood, his ivory feathers dim and lifeless. Finagle the coward gazed down on her lost friends. They were helpless, Megatron was calmly strolling up to her, and she and once again failed them.

Once again...

Finagle shook with the memory, her determination blazing in her eyes in the form of red dragon's fire, reflecting and dancing across her pupils. In that moment she screamed, no earthly tongue, none Megatron could recognize, but surely a swear word. She drew her hand back, high above her head as though to strike a blow, but instead a four-pointed, retracted ninja star withdrew from her wrist. In a flick of her wrist it was open, locked in place and its poison flowing. In another moment she brought her hand down, faster and faster as her world stood on its heel and that star was the only thing important.

It left her hand, careening through the air, arcing around before striking Megatron in the chest, through the chest, searing open who knew how many vitals before hitting something hard and halting. Megatron fell to his knees from the pure force of the impact, not the poison coursing through his systems that would claim him in a minute.

Finagle did not give him a minute, bounding across her fallen comrades' bodies to strike him. She knocked him back, ripping off his jaw as she stood upon his chest, a minutiae fury, she opened the palm of her hand to the circuitry beneath, ramming it to Megatron's skull and draining what life force was left in his person.

Finagle shook, her anger not fully spent but without another outlet, wishing she could have given him a graver, longer, more painful death. Still, slowly the anger did dissipate, no longer obscuring Finagle's mind or her vision. She arose from her daze to notice an odd glimmer rimming the bottom of her vision, and she looked down to hands and feet and knees covered with mech fluid. She was kneeling in a puddle of it, and as she watched it seemed to rise further and further, threatening to drown her.

Finagle's vision dimmed, her mind receding to a safe place where she was not nestled upon the corpse of another being, and no mech lapped her cheek.

It was a peaceful scene. The wind played gently with the dust. Small growing things unraveled to the day's height. Shimmering silver pools spread slowly across the dirt. Then Echo stepped into it all.

She had no excuse for being late this time, but judging by the large, fallen mound of metal that now graced the scenery, she wouldn't need one. She firstly checked to make sure Megatron was gone, then stood there a moment, just allowing her logic circuits to catch up to her.

Blackarachnia was in two pieces, stasis lock, but reparable. Waspinator was, for once, in once piece, but it seemed like at least three cement shots had brought him down. It would be a job to free him of it. Megatron's hopes had obviously failed, and, judging by the slicing bow missile on the ground, it had been Panthera who had once again foiled him.

"I seem to be the only of the Predacons adept enough to take her down...." she muttered to herself. It was odd, though... when the Maximals had left they did not exterminate Blackarachnia or Waspinator... a fact which left her surprised, and puzzled.

"Later I will commandeer the files... learn more of our enemy..."

Were they incompetent enough not to realize that the two were still alive? Arrogant enough to believe they would die without an R tank, that no help would reach them in time? She shook her head. No, that could not be it. Then what?

She shook off contemplation. They needed help, now. Time for speculation later. She switched open a channel, calling to whomever was nearest. And as she heard Silverbolt's voice answer, a thought occurred to her.

"Yes, comrade Echo? Tarantulus and Inferno are safe, and I am on my way..."

"We have two Predacons down, Terran sector. The cowardly Maximals flew when they saw me, but they may be back once they've gathered their forces." She feinted sorrow for reasons she still hadn't devised. "And they've killed Megatron."

Silverbolt sucked in his breath quickly on the other side of the line. "...A loss we shall hold most dear. I come, hold your position until I arrive..."

Echo closed the link and reopened her mind. When they returned... Tarantulus was shot by Panthera, as were Blackarachnia and Waspinator... Inferno couldn't walk until repaired... Megatron was dead... that left only her and Silverbolt fully functional.

Echo squinted her tiny, weak bat eyes. Even they could see this opportunity....

Finagle screamed, piercing the noon air with her cry. A scaled claw and a soft paw quickly found her shoulders, snatching her away from her nightmare, though she could not escape its memory. She was gasping for air, her hands clutched. She had awoken this way ever since the silver of another's mech fluid clouded her vision.

"Are you all right, Finagle?" said Panthera as Patroclus spread his wings, shielding the small troop from any disturbances.

"No... no.... oh, Arcane, Pattie, I keep seeing... mech, mech everywhere. I..." She covered her eyes. "I can't even look at you two anymore. I keep imagining what's beneath the skin...."

Panthera knit her brow, glancing at Patroclus and receiving a confused look.

"What's so frightening about that?"

"Ohhh... you don't know... you two, you're warriors. I'm not. I... I can't stand it. I can't see you as ... guys, instead of seeing your faces, I see the circuitry, the wires, the mech..." She shivered.

Panthera was looking even more confused. "Finagle, I don't understand... I've brought down Predacon, Maximal, Decepticon, even Proxian... why should knowing what's beneath matter?"

Finagle just shook her head, eyes covered. She couldn't explain it to them. She had never met another like herself. All Proxians were built and trained to be able to defend if necessary, yet she.... she...

"I have to make it stop." She stated it plainly as the fact it was. "Whatever it takes... Arcane... Arcane... can't you..." She stopped, as though even she didn't know what she was about to say. "Can't you... reprogram... fix.... do something?!"

"What?"

"You're a biomechanical technician! Can't you make it stop? You got rid of the AHS programming, can't you just .... I dunno. Get rid of this?"

"Are you serious?"

"Well, can't you?"

"Finny, I... I... firstly, I'm not completely trained. I don't have that sort of knowledge of logic circuits at this point..."

"I do! I'll tell you what I know, write it out, you just do it..."

"And secondly this is a personality trait, not a program! It is shaped by your experiences, and many things go into it... I'd have to change dozens of things. And don't tell me you know how to do this... you're a programmer. You don't deal with hardware, you just design...."

"I design, right, that's how I know. Arcane, please...."

"No."

"But Arcane, I can't..."

"No, Finny. Now I don't want to hear another word about this. It won't work and I won't do it. You'd just endanger yourself."

"I know..."

"Enough. That's an order."

Finagle just looked at Panthera a moment, not sure what she could do. She dropped her head, shaking it and plying her claws through her crimson mane. "I'm sorry... Arcane, I just... I want to be able to sleep. Is that too much?"

"You'll sleep when you're tired enough." She answered with confidence in her voice, ignoring the way Finagle's arm shook from supporting her. But then, Finagle knew she was quite the actor...

"Of course...." Replied Finagle, mentally and physically turning away. She found her covers, nestling in them, looking away from her friends' worried eyes. She lay there, intent on the wall, her mind blank, her decision made. She listened to the muffled sounds of Panthera taking her place on the bunk above her -- this was her bed, refitted to have another bunk on bottom. Pattie settled onto the cold floor beside the bed -- he'd been offered a bunk elsewhere, but peeked his beak in and requested the floor. "I don't want to be left out." he had said.

Finagle sighed, stopping herself halfway as though afraid they would realize she was awake. She listened to the thudding of the Maximals along the corridors, thinking it so odd that all Maximals should be dayworkers of a sort...

She lay there, staring, unthinking. Tomorrow was another day...

Echo walked into the Predacon Base with Waspinator on her shoulder. She was trembling slightly from the weight, purely because of her thin ankles, but she set him down on the R platform steadily, watching calmly as he lowered beneath the fluid. Blackarachnia was lowered opposite him, and she turned slowly, watched by what ragtag group was left after the two-fold attack. Megatron was obviously not with her, Blackarachnia and Waspinator damaged, no prisoners to be found. Echo let the air stagnate a second.

"Megatron is dead." She said, watching the thick air shatter and pool like oil in water.

"What? The Royalty?!" Inferno cried, shaking slightly. He lowered his head a second, as though in mourning, slowly lifting it up, shaking only more. "Who...ever has done this... will BUUURRRN!!"

"Megatron? Dead?" Blathered Tarantulus as Inferno limped away, his weapon wheeling above his head. "How?"

"The Maximals -- it was Panthera." Inferno stopped a second, looking back quietly. He stood as a statue, only tapping his fingers against the barrel of his flame thrower suggestively. "They killed him in cold blood. And I am leader now."

"What?" Silverbolt turned to her, glancing back at Tarantulus and Inferno before turning again to her, whispering. "Echo, you cannot claim leadership! What right..."

"You know them, Bolt." She returned, just as softly. "They have not our honor, though they have more than the Maximals. This is the only way to defeat our enemies honorably. Isn't that what you want?"

Silverbolt averted his eyes a moment. Echo needed no more encouragement than his lack of further protest.

"I am leader and Silverbolt is my second in command. Inferno, you will stay here. Yes, she and the other Maximals -- especially the other Proxians, who helped -- will burn. We shall strike them down at the first opportunity. But first, we have warriors to collect, plans to make." She slit her ever gaping eyes. "We shall win next or not at all. But once is enough..."

"Where is she?"

Panthera worriedly searched the east side of the Axalon, Patroclus searching the west. Finagle was not in her bunk and it was not like her to get up early at any time, let alone with sleep so scarce. She may have awoken among nightmares again, so she and Patroclus were hoping to find the small green dragon wandering alone, as she often did.

Panthera paced the corridors, finding nothing. In another moment her fears overcame any embarrassment and she put her nose to the ground, almost literally. She still couldn't risk diverting energon away from her internals, leaving her with only her few non-Proxian resources. Panthera was not considered strong on Vicinis, merely having a strategical mind, a greater size and natural skill. She was actually weaker than she had been as a Maximal, now, and if Rattrap only knew he probably could have knocked her down with one clean punch. That is, if he could reach her face.

Panthera sniffled, bearing back tears caused by an accidental scrape of her nose against the floor. She did this more and more as she rushed, finally picking up the oddly earthly scent of a mechanoid. She followed it in the opposite direction of her quarters, roaming farther and farther to the outside parameters of the ship. Chanting negatives in her head all the way, she came upon the outermost wall and a small gape in it caused by a surgical laser.

Her contra pack. Slaggit, must've taken her hours to get out using it without someone noticing... she planned this, took time, on purpose. Slaggit. Moonlight, what did I do to deserve this?

Panthera ran to the nearest exit, flipping open a channel to all on the ship saying merely that she'd found Finagle. She bounded to the opposite side of the hole, rubbing her nose in the dirt until she traced it in an obvious straight line... the river. At the first possible chance, once the current was slow enough, Finagle had entered the river. How to trace it....

A blanket of warmth dropped onto her, holding her by a steady force. She didn't bother to look up, knowing Patroclus was peeking under his wing at her just by the lack of light.

"It's not your fault." he said softly, his tufted ears folded into his crest.

Panthera held the steady gaze at the area between her feet, slightly annoyed that a light blue talon had interrupted the steady flow of bleak brown. "What am I going to do? She's going to do it, you know that? With her contra pack... it's possible. If I'd offered, it would at least have been safer. Now she'll be out there, all alone, prone to preds and wild things... she's practically neon! No way she'll go unnoticed..."

"She'll disguise herself..." Patroclus nodded faintly at the mud on the river's bank.

"I don't know, Pattie... what if.... she might not even come back. She may kill herself out there and we won't be able to do a thing."

"You're Arcane, master of disguise... you can find her."

"No, no, Pattie, I can't. I've been wearied and weakened and... I can't. I seriously can't. You have to do it, Pattie. Find her." Panthera finally looked up, her head tilted to regard Patroclus with one sad golden eye. "Go. There's no time... go!"

Patroclus just blinked at her a second, as though the order had flown over his tufted ears. Panthera shook her head, turning as Patroclus pulled his wing up from where it laid on her shoulder. An uncertain look back, a bit of a running start and he was beating through the air, sailing on the wind, his wing shaking slightly.

Panthera took only one glimpse of him. She watched her toes a second, listening to the breathing of the Maximals behind her. She could not really hear it, but some sense of hers told her they were there and her imagination filled in the rest.

"Guys... I need your help."

She peeked over her shoulder at them, noting the raised eyebrows and crossed arms. She wasn't one to be asking favors.

"Now der's a phrase I never thought I'd hear." Interjected Rattrap. "I guess a couple Proxians didn't do much, eh?"

"It's not like you've been doing us any good...." said Cheetor distractedly, as though talking about something else to himself.

Optimus ignored Rattrap's comments ignominiously. "You know, Cheetor has a point."

"Optimus, this is my best friend we're talking about!" Panthera turned fully now, pacing closer angrily. "Best friends... Patroclus may have firepower, but he's not all that bright... not quite all there... look what happened last time."

"So, Proxians ain't as perfect as dey claim t'be, hm?"

Panthera slit her slit cat eyes at Rattrap. "I never claimed to be perfect, that would be a lie. And I don't lie." Panthera gave up on Rattrap with a gesture, her eyes back to Optimus. "Optimus, my best friends... please, help me."

"Well... maybe if you promised not to drain anyone's energon.... or, better yet, if you gave up your vendetta against Cheetor..."

"I can't do that!"

"Can't... or won't?"

"Both, Optimus, he must die. That is a fact as I know it, as a loyal Proxian. For me not to kill him would be to kill myself, to dishonor me..."

Dinobot snorted. "Your honor says nothing of killing people?"

Panthera tensed, retracting her claws into the earth. She took a quick backward look behind herself, reminding herself that she had to get through to them. "Yes, of course. But Proximis comes first. It must. Look, don't make me choose between my planet, my society, my life! ...and my friends. I can't do it. Please, help me."

Panthera looked at the Maximals, wondering if the expression on her face was imploring and hoping it was. They must've heard her and Patroclus talking... though they couldn't understand the language, they intent was, to her at least, clear.... didn't they realize how much she cared?

The Maximals stood in silence a moment. It was, in a way, their duty to help... but at the same time it seemed they were helping the enemy by helping Panthera. She was out to kill one of the members of their crew, had possibly killed another and now expected them to help her retrieve troops -- powerful troops -- loyal to her.

"Maybe... for a favor?" Cheetor was still looking at the ground and watching imaginary butterflies. "To be granted when needed?"

"I don't know..." said Optimus.

"As long as it doesn't break my honor or my allegiance, you have it. Please." Panthera doubted her eyes were showing the hopelessness and worry inside of her, but she bored into Optimus' with them anyway, hoping to keep his optics from the doubting faces of his own kind.

"All right. One favor."

"Granted." said Panthera, turning and racing after Patroclus as fast as she could, almost thanking Ostrava for the training tips. She might possibly catch up enough to be within communications distance of Patroclus. With his flight and Proxian senses and her knowledge of the territory... maybe.

Finny, please don't make me regret it...

Finagle set up the equipment coldly. It wouldn't be as sure to rewire this way rather than use a surgical strike, but she had no other options. Her contra pack extended into cable and interface. She punctured a small hole in herself, turning her face away, she slipped in the final component by touch. She laid down carefully, still catching herself and the wires on the thorny briars surrounding herself. She was stuck just as she moved to put her head down, her red hair catching and pulling on her scalp painfully.

No one else has hair in bot form....

This was unheard of even among the highly organic Proxians. More proof of how freakish she was. And she looked it when her dragon head spun in a half circle and flipped, revealing her current face.

Brushings, briars... what I'd give to be bald...

It was too many more precious moments before she untangled her hair and was lying down completely. She made the final preparations by thought before leaving her pack to do the dangerous reworking. She slipped gratefully into a silent slumber, although the cold ground on her shoulders made her shudder like the claws of death...

Beast Wars and all related belong to Hasbro. The story, its original contents and ideas, and any original characters belong to the author and cannot be used or reprinted without the author's permission.

Lady Macbeth, pt 3 (PG)
by BluePard (bluepard@buffnet.net)

Panthera winced as yet another thorn sliced her side. Patroclus was leading the way, taking the brunt of it, but she was faced with the backlashes of the boughs he bent. Patroclus could have chopped the path clear, even bitten off many branches, but they hadn't the time. From what Panthera knew this whole area was an impossible labyrinth of low hanging trees and briars, all leafless and sharp. She hadn't explored here, for obvious reasons, but she could guess they were just heading out of the center of the briars. Patroclus had his beak to the ground, which, though not the sharpest, was more keen than Panthera's nose at the moment. The Maximals were ahead, away from the briars, skirting the surrounding area in a circular pattern that would take hours to complete, and much longer in the dark. Even if they found Finagle, Patroclus and Panthera had no other way out but forward. Patroclus' wings, still not healed from the last assault, were now once again shredded to the point of uselessness. Panthera was doing her best not to slip on his mech.

She flinched as another bush raked her shoulder with thorny claws.

If we don't faint from the mech we're losing...

The hills were reminiscent of her long lost virtual home, where she had fled in terror of her own kind. They sent a chill through Finagle, a wisp of a faded but not forgotten memory that tainted the wind. They were coming. It was easy to hear their brattle through the woods and she was merely calmly waiting. Her anticipation made her claws twitch, but she reined herself in as they finally, unexpectedly broke into the sunlight. Finagle stood up proudly against the first light of dawn, mocking their night-long hunt by exposing herself so clearly in silhouette.

"Finagle! You're all right!" Patroclus scrambled up the rocks as quickly as he could, his ears deaf to Panthera's quick and hushed warning.

"No, I am not all right." She answered spitefully, as though she were a spitting wyrm. "My supposed 'best friends' deserted me when I needed them most..." She shook her head. "I'm not coming back. I can't... I can't deal with you two."

"Finagle..." Panthera hopped after Patroclus, not as enthusiastically. "We did it in your interests... we didn't want you hurt...."

"Oh, and I thought you didn't lie, Arcane. But that's right... Arcane was my best friend. You, you're just some impostor. Arcane would never have left me like that. And you..." She turned her eyes to Patroclus. "It seems behind that guise of stupidity and innocent there's a lot of malice. Get away from me, both of you...."

Patroclus sucked in his breath sharply, looking lost. Panthera stepped in front of him, as a shield from Finagle's blows.

"Finagle, please... I know you're mad, but listen...."

"No." Finagle made a motion to spit on Panthera, but thought better of it and moved away from the edge, making her way to some hidden crevice where they could not follow.

"No?" Patroclus appeared behind her, having climbed up while out of notice. He tackled Finagle as she turned, pinning her arms to her sides. "You won't listen, then look." Patroclus ignored the kicks in his stomach, moving Finagle to one arm and displaying the other one, with all its gashes and dripping mech. Finagle shivered a little, her eyes losing their nasty slit and gaping slightly with sickness instead. "We got shot to slag for you. We stood up for you when no one would. Arcane owes the Maximals for you. We got these marks looking for you all night. We care."

Panthera joined the unhappy Terror Trio, waiting without comment at the edges of the spectacle. Finagle was looking quite pale by this point, attempting to avert her eyes from the sight of Patroclus' circuitry, but unable to get the silver glow of mech out of her vision.

"Fine, fine, Pattie, please...." She flinched, trying to wrench her head away from his wounds. Patroclus put her down and she immediately collapsed, her hands over her eyes and through her mane. She sighed as though relieved at the soft paw on her knee, the talons teasing her mane. She reached up an arm to hug the nearest and found the other nibbling on her mane in pure gryphon affection.

"Guys... I hate this..."

"It's okay, Finagle." Panthera spoke little at times like this, leaving her presence as a sign of reassurance.

"It isn't okay. I can't believe I flipped out at you guys like that... I just..."

"It's okay. We've all been under a lot of stress. We understand."

Finagle raised her head to Panthera's golden eyes, but turned away, gazing at Patroclus' instead. Patroclus' were just as she remembered them, soft and silent. Panthera's were still clouded with something from this world...

"We'd best get back to base..." Panthera turned as Finagle loosed her grip of the panther's noble neck, letting her hand sway back and forth until it rested at her side. Finagle smiled weakly as Patroclus again bounded off ahead, slipping hazardously down the shallow slopes. Panthera waited for Finagle, allowing the dragon to rest her hand supportively on her shoulder, though she winced some as it brushed the slashes, bruises and tender organics. Finagle flinched herself at a sharp look from Panthera, biting her lip nervously, even as she did brushing an exposed area and opening the palm of her hand. With a quick motion she pressed her palm to the area, gritting her teeth in a wide grin as Panthera screamed. It took only a moment, weak as she was from her wounds....

Finagle found herself suddenly flung across the landscape, hitting the ground harshly, almost slipping off the hill. She recovered quickly, staring up defiantly at Patroclus, his hand still raised from having backhanded her. She jumped again for her welcome, hidden crevice, tackled this time harshly, caught by her mane and held off the ground to Patroclus' eye level.

"You... bitch!"

"But, Pattie, I'm.... I'm your best friend!"

"No, you aren't." His eyes wandered to the sparkling drops of mech fluid filtering out of Panthera's hide. "You killed her! You..." His arms shook, and certainly not with the effort of holding Finagle up. Finagle slit her draconic eyes, realizing Patroclus would not grant mercy and spat her words into his face.

"I'm the only one who can transfer energon here; I'm the only one who can save her, and if you murder me, freak, you've murdered her."

Patroclus growled, the noise echoing in a threateningly empty stomach. He threw Finagle down with an air of disgust. "Save her."

"You know energon overdoses require twice the energon -- I don't have enough. I'll have to drain you..."

"You'll kill me." Patroclus growled.

"No, I won't. And you don't have a choice..."

"There's always a third option.'"

"And while you ponder it Arcane will die." Finagle crooked her head in a snake's position, her mane bristling up around her blood red eyes. Patroclus glanced to the panther's immobile form -- he was the brawn, not the brains. The brains was currently staining the dust.

"Fine." Patroclus shivered, and sat down next to Finagle, posing no opposition.

Finagle clawed him, and in a moment her palm opened and made contact. Patroclus grit his beak at first, but the pain continued... and suddenly he was weak. In an instant he awoke from his niavity, raising a feathered talon to strike her, but dropping it lifelessly to the earth instead.

Finagle gloated over his corpse, her laughter rising to a pitch unheard by human ears.

"Warning: energon overdose. Poses severe threat to robotic form. Energon levels must be stabilized."

"Shut up! I am powerful, too powerful for death." she shouted at herself as the deadly energon danced across her circuitry, "Stronger than Patroclus, smarter than Arcane...."

Finagle hit the ground hard, and it hurt as much as without the energon. Finagle shook herself, slowly raising her head... and time froze for her, and she thought for a moment that it was odd that what hit her had not done so again...

IDA stood inside the envelope. Outside it time was nil, things stood still, but here the wide-eyed wonder pondered the next move of queen, bishop and knight.

"You're going to save them, aren't you," said a reflection of herself, dressed in black. "You're going to mysteriously pop in, save the day, and pop out."

IDA did not bother to turn at the youthful voice. "This is my planet, my decision, and that's my form, FATA. I'd appreciate it if you showed all three of them a little respect."

FATA sniffed the air as though testing for leaking sewers. IDA turned, narrowing her eyes so little as to be barely perceivable, but FATA took the hint and slipped into her own form. The tall, stylized, sleek fox melted into a realistic, tiny and low-to-the-ground kit, green eyes shining, with a silver/black coat that emanated warmth.

"But you are going to interfere, aren't you? You're going to play the big bad fox again." She made a face, her voice mocking.

"My business."

"Please, IDA, be original. What a cop out... let them die. Surprise me for once."

"This is a place of learning. None ought to die here."

"Well, there have been deaths, haven't there?"

"One of which was your fault." IDA's mood was imperceptible, her voice the same as always, but still an accusation lay in her manner, somehow.

"What, the tiger again? Please, you left no proof of his demise..."

IDA turned her back on the scene, looming over FATA, who didn't seem the least bit perturbed. "If you want me to haul his rusting carcass out of that lake, fine, it'll be a going-away-from-my-planet gift."

FATA contracted her pupils as though to point out the differences between them. "Still, let this flow as it may. You're the one who lets everything get out of control, deal with the consequences for once."

"You can go manipulate your own planets, galaxies, universes, whatever, but this planet is mine. Leave it alone. You have your style, I have mine."

"Right, and I've had far longer to develop that style. IDA, it is not too late to gain control here, force the results to be your results, manipulate your subjects into the fate you feel right..."

IDA sighed. "You are older, true, and more experienced. Your style has been perfected, I will admit-- within your limitations. Yes, FATA, you have limitations as does everyone. As do I. But nature," she flashed her eyes, her own way of demonstrating their differences, "...nature is far older than you, far more experienced than you. Life has experience you and I will never gain. So, I will allow life to do its job, and intercede only when necessary. And here it is necessary."

FATA distorted her naturally laughing face into a sarcastic scowl. "So, what will you do, IDA? You, who have so many projects at once, none of which you have control of, you who lets your subjects have free rein, and free will? You promised to punish all murderers, well, unless you want to play Primus..." She chuckled a little, silently. "...you will have to lose all three Proxians."

"Odd, FATA, you are not blind, but I'd swear you were deaf, despite those lovely, fluffy ears of yours. This... 'Finagle' will be killed for murdering three beings. But... well, you shall see yourself, some time, I am busy now. You know my powers are not as great as yours... I can't stay in this envelope forever. And you have wasted enough of my energies. Please leave. Or stay and watch the show- no interference -and see how many styles life can have."

"You are not a part of this," She indicated the still-frozen melodrama. "Don't interfere."

"Wrong, FATA, I am a part of this, as are you, whether you know or admit it. Now, back to the game... and no, FATA, we are not the players, but the pieces. Powerful queens, but still just pieces." FATA rolled her eyes. "It is the action of the pieces, FATA, which wins the game."

Finagle hit the ground hard, and it hurt as much as without the energon. Finagle shook herself, slowly raising her head... and time froze for her, and she thought for a moment that it was odd that what hit her had not done so again, before she realized she was still raising her head, her blazing eyes scarlet as IDA's noble coat. She glowered up at the unnatural eyes in an unnatural face topping an unnatural body. "You can't kill me...." She shook. "I won't let--"

IDA's eyes grew deep blue, the same color of the mist which carefully wrapped its hands around Finagle's throat. The mist lifted her off the ground, choked her air, draining her energon down... down.....

Patroclus opened his eagle's eye a crack, and took a long gulp of the air his organics were screaming for. His energy returned to him, his pump beating steadily in his rib cage. It skipped, though, at the sight of Finagle's plight.

"No, please!" he pleaded, bounding up with strength that once was Finagle's, "Don't, please, it's not her fault, she's not herself, give her another chance, don't..."

"This 'Finagle' has killed. Now she pays the price."

Patroclus was on his feline knees in a second, his noble brow rubbing the dirt, bowing, leaving his body and his life at the feet of her vulpine form. "No, please, no, no, no," he couldn't stop saying those words now, he just repeated them, over and over, his breath catching, threatening to keen in anticipation of death.

"This Finagle must be destroyed. This Finagle." IDA nodded her head, dropping her gaze and Finagle's motionless form. She stepped out of the world, but Patroclus didn't notice, he was at Finagle's side in a bound. He picked her up like a baby, cradling her, hugging her warm cheek to his, until she opened her eyes.

"Patroclus..." she said, remembering, "Oh, Patroclus.. I... I.." She hugged him around the neck as best she could. "I'm so sorry... how... Patroclus, do you hate me?"

"No, no, no, you're alive, you're alive.. Arcane!" Patroclus leapt away from the spot, dropping Finagle as he hopped on all fours to the spot next to Panthera. Finagle did not bother to clutch his neck this time, allowing herself to gently roll away, and view the scene as an outsider. Patroclus sniffled over the pard, his dappled white wings turning gray-blue underneath the shades of twilight.

"Arcane.... too late..." Patroclus rubbed his cheek under her neck, wishing she'd awake from the death dream. He repeated only her name now, hyperventilating in his sorrow, keening, filling the air with a gryphon's death song. He hugged her pitch-black form, swaying back and forth, whimpering with no breath left to keen. Finagle shivered, her eyes on the ground but her ears filled to the brim with Pattie's mourning.

"Arcane... Arcane... Arcane... oh... I'm so sorry... Arcane.. Arcane..." he mumbled through her fur. He blinked through his wet cheek feathers, pricking up his tufted ears. He put his ear to Panthera's mouth, listening, his heart pounding so hard he could barely hear, but...

Soft, gently, barely noticeable, was the hiss of the shallowest of breathing between Panthera's gaping teeth. The vapor in it gathered on his feathers, and he shivered at the wind blown in his ear.

"Arcane! Arcane Arcane Arcane Arcane!" He rocked back and forth, beaming at Finagle. "She's alive! Barely, but alive! You didn't drain all her energon! Alive alive alive!"

He turned away from Finagle's started face to Panthera's dreamless one. He hefted her up into an arm, turning back to Finagle. "I have to get her back to an R Chamber. She won't last long. Can you walk?"

"Somewhat..."

"Good. I'll be right back...." He started to sprint off, but stopped himself quickly. "I'm not mad, Finagle, just so you know. I forgive you." His brows knit at the disbelief in her eyes. "How couldn't I? We're best friends." He nodded; this was his best friend before him once again. And he bounded off on three legs with all his life.

Finagle mumbled something sadly to herself, getting up and then falling back, lightning dancing across her eyelids.

"Magic wand! Magic wand!" FATA shrieked in IDA's sensitive ears. IDA turned back to the annoying creature, satisfied that the game proceeded.

"Granted, but even magic has a price... one Finagle will be feeling shortly. And that shall be all the more entertaining...."

IDA acknowledged FATA with a simple nod, unwilling to justify her reasoning further. Before FATA's eyes the red coat changed, turning into small blue grains of sand, which, unsupported, fell to the earth and in their falling, became dust. FATA hrmphffed at the pile, sure IDA was still lurking.

"Yes, well.... while you may never accept my goodwill, IDA, feel free to come to me," She grinned. "For All The Answers."

Finagle was greeted upon sight by a hug from her best friend, and not the feathered one. She related the details to Panthera softly, with many halts and looks of penance. She looked up to Panthera's eyes, expecting to spend the rest of her life on latrine duty.

"Finagle..." said Panthera in a whisper, shaking her head sadly, "Never let Patroclus recycle me."

Finagle laughed, hugging her friend around the neck. She even thought she could see a smile beneath Panthera's slight scowl. Perhaps they were a bit closer, now.... maybe they hadn't lost their friendship through separation and misunderstandings...

Finagle could only grin as Patroclus picked the two off the floor, hugging both, nuzzling them with his grinning beak. Life was so simple for him, he had his friends back... he was happy.

And Finagle grinned, noting that yes, there was an arcane twinkle in Panthera's eye... but....

....Arcane looked from side to side nervously, shivering at the cold dark, blind to it as her victims had been. The evil depth surrounded her, driving her neurosis until she dropped into a sitting position, her hands covering her head.

"What's wrong, Arcane?" came a mocking tone. She looked up and Ostrava's face grinned at her. She jumped back, still sitting.

"Always have the answer, don't you, Arcane? Always in the right, always in the know. Nothing ever disturbing your skewed sense of honor."

Ostrava was stepping closer now, forcing Arcane to her feet.

"You think you've killed me, Arcane, just because I'm digested and one with the earth. But I've been haunting you since the Light spit you out, dirty with your filth. The more sanity you lose, the more control I gain."

"Think, Arcane, think and repent of your sins. In your warped mind I am dishonorable, but would Moonlight see it that way? And even if she understood, do you truly believe Daystar would?"

"Daystar is honorable..."

"A lie! A lie from your treacherous maw! Like the child you are, you see those two as demi-gods, when they are as dishonorable as your friends. Your friends are dishonorable and still I die and they live. What sick joke is this of your tiny feline brain? You are part of the corruption of Proximis, plagued with the prejudices that your idol said would be the planet's downfall!"

Ostrava opened a hand to display Proximis in its beauty and, with a shake of her head, crushed it to dust in her palm.

"You, Arcane, are the key to the downfall of all you hold dear..." She grinned, displaying all her long, sharp rodentia teeth. "Just as I programmed you..."

Arcane rose, the strength to speak coming from knowing the lie. She was programmed by Tryst. "Every word you speak is a lie -- you are a traitor and both Moonlight and Daystar will know it. It is scrawled across your index codes, the proof lies in my database. Greed and malice, which would have come to naught if not for a faulty AHS program, impairing your loyalties... So don't try to pull that IDA slag on me."

"You misjudge your leaders. They were unwilling to allow you off Vicinis, and now it is obvious why. Your honor is dangerous. You will not kill Cheetor, even as his life threatens the force of Proximis.... you have not seen him kill nor heard him lie, and you will let that wipe out Proximis!"

"Honor is a virtue...."

"Honor is a virtue among the Maximals! You are Proxian, you should have no goals except the perseverance of Proximis, yet you allow this honor to cloud your duties! A futile struggle, child, don't you see?" Ostrava's expression lightened into one imploring her. "Scorponok, child, never lied, never killed. You have murdered an innocent, you have already lost your honor. You refused to kill one who endangered your country, you have already lost your loyalty. Salvage what you can, child, pray for the forgiveness you don't deserve..."

"You will never reach the Light, that is certain. Hope history forgives you, hope your kind lets your sins die with your death..."

She shook her head. "You, child, shall never see the Light... shall never reach Proximis.... your hopes are lost, strive for what you can, and lay your sins at the feet of your own, to be judged.... The Light will never come, retribution though...."

"The Light will never come..."

Arcane, suddenly a panther, found herself in shackles, forced to bow, her kinsmen standing along the halls, whispering of her sins, malice in their eyes...

Moonlight... who she almost wanted to be...

Daystar... who she respected...

Cato... who should have been leader...

Shrimshaw... who fought her wisely...

JR... who captivated with written word...

Beryl... who provided an opponant...

Afterburner... who teased and taught in the same breath...

Noviece... who reminded her of reality...

Cira... who reminded her of the possibilities...

Tryst... who had set himself in his work, and therefore, in her...

Elide... who had the eye of her idol...

Even Fearlight's face turned to her, glaring. Only Ostrava had no hatred in her eyes. Instead, simple acknowledgment of the inevitable...

Arcane shuddered at the whispers, the reminders of all her faults, refusing to allow the tears to come down but watching them hit the ground, nonetheless. Which only increased the whispers....

That malice.... She meant nothing to no one... it hurt.

It hurt...

She squirmed where she lay and was surprised to reach out and not find the world there. Finagle opened her eyes, suddenly realizing it had been only a dream. She shivered a moment, catching her breath, before she allowed herself to remember...

Arcane?

Finagle had not been in the dream at all.... She had watched it all as a story. Yet it disturbed her so much...

Finagle's eyes drifted to Patroclus' form. She allowed the dream to fade a moment, calming at Patroclus' steady breathing. He had the sweetest expression on his face... odd to think he was offering to kill the spotted one for Arcane just as he drifted off...

Finagle sighed. She was an abnormal freak, that was all there was to it. Normal people didn't have hair in bot mode, weren't this small, didn't faint at mech, didn't....

She glanced at Patroclus.

She recalled her slight knowledge of ways of Terrans... There was an essay, filled with every thought of a young man as he passed a young woman on the street -- it had been banned in some places as perverted. Somehow, next to that, wanting to hug someone and never let go didn't seem quite so bad...

I hate organics.

She sighed, lifting herself up, elbows on Arcane's bunk. If he cared for anyone, it would be the outstanding, excelling, praised-by-Moonlight Arcane. The sad thing being that he wasn't as organic as she... thoughts like hers would not occur to him. He had no idea there was a choice to make.. so there wasn't one.

But even if he did feel like this, it wouldn't matter...

She would not be chosen. Finagle sighed again, suddenly wondering if she were wrong. Her eyes shifted to Arcane's shut ones... she seemed at peace, yes, but did similar nightmares harry her?

Scorponok... the death of an innocent... oh Light, the dream was right. She has no proof that he was dishonorable... and if he wasn't, she is...

Finagle halted a second, wondering how such an idea had occurred to her. She glanced over her shoulder at Patroclus -- he loved them. He had told them so. Neither had replied with a similar remark, Finagle out of fear, Arcane out of....

Out of what?

Finagle shook her head, wondering what was making her think such things. She forced herself back to her bunk, but could do nothing but stare at the bottom of the top bunk and think. Her nightmares were gone, but those thoughts which replaced them...

Finagle, friend of a pard, a gryphon, and a mink. Finagle, holder of a secret. Finagle, who understood her two best friends, and could only understand them moreso in the future. Finagle, judge of character. Finagle, who could only view her own through a mirror, and a trick one at that...