| abstract
| - Once the heart of the enemy presence on Earth, Decepticon Island--still named such with a wink and a nod--is a shell of its former self. The sprawling city stands in blackened ruins from when Computron turned it into ash. Many structures still stand, but are used now for urban training so collateral damage poses no issue. Other sections of the city have been carved out to provide more natural terrain. Both holographic and mechanical training equipment litter the island to create any sort of scenario that the EDC Commanders can think of. Most of the EDC's retrofitting was done underground, with heavy lifts present to carry anything from a single man to a heavy jet fighter to the GroundBridge terminal. The Command Bunker can be used both to monitor the training operations and defend the area. Despite how relatively unimportant this satellite base is, it is well defended thanks to all the training weapons hidden throughout the base that can be ramped up to combat levels and turned against any attackers. Loadout Apocryphacius is still under 'base arrest' and will be until General Faireborn says any different. However, there is a time travelling Quintesson elder wandering around, and that is sort of like having a whimsical cobalt bomb roaming, only more dangerous. Given that said dangerous creature might want to talk to Apocryphacius again, Apocryphacius has asked to be assigned somewhere with a low chance of collateral damage. The request was granted, and here he is on 'Decepticon Island', a miserable, ruined place used as a training grounds. The temperature and salt air are quite agreeable, Apocryphacius finds as he does the rounds of checking the training weapons. Apocryphacius transforms into his Apocryphacius mode. It was bound to happen sooner or later, according to what the old Quint had said. And sure enough, "What do you feel you have learned, in the days since our first meeting?" The voice comes across the short distance from where a series of old, dead palm trees still lay, the remnants of a past battle that devastated the island itself. Straddling one of the fallen trunks at first, the Quintesson lifts himself up and over, his spider-like 'bone legs' scuttling in the soft earth to draw him closer as tendrils writhe to and fro in his wake while he approaches closer. Did he just appear out of nowhere or did he sneak up? Impossible to tell as the call came from out of eyesight initially before he came closer. Loadout drops Archaeonix . You receive a radio message from Amber MacKenzie: Need something to do, Apocryphacius? There's a Decepticon plot that needs deciphering. Apocryphacius takes a moment to close up the paintball turret mount he was examining and marks it down on the spreadsheet of things he has been checking so far. That done, he puts the spreadsheet away and looks over at the other Quintesson. Apocryphacius muses, babbling a bit, "'Feel I have learned'. Interesting phrasing. Likely accurate. Everyone has biases, after all. I have been told that you are a temporal specialist, which puts an extra wrinkle into this conversation. You may not have done anything that you have been said to have done yet from your perspective. Can I really be sure that the events described are in your past? They may be in your future yet to come. I have also been told that you are suffering from MPD, which is more accurately termed dissociative identity disorder, and that you are extremely dangerous. That you were confined to an island and could not escape. I have been told that you would like to conquer the Transformers. Now, would you like anything to drink? Perhaps a snack?" He gestures. He also raises one tentacle to an audio-piece radio. You send a radio message to Amber MacKenzie: While I would be most delighted to help you, I find myself somewhat occupied with an old friend of yours. You receive a radio message from Amber MacKenzie: Are you okay? If he's *that* friend, I hope you have backup nearby, if not actually present. "Quite a list of things you have learned," the response comes, as the other Quint continues scuttling closer, until finally side-stepping almost crab-like as he settles into a 'comfortable' spot where he can squat somewhat and let his ovoid 'bottom' hang suspended between his four stilt-like legs. Two of his tendrils writhe together as the others absently pluck at the nearby ferns, pushing up from the ash of some flashfire that had consumed this chunk of foliage in a past battle. "And what do you feel is fact, and what may be uncertain? Do you trust these sources of information as unbiased and correct? Or have you formulated your own opinion based on these 'facts'?" There is a shift in the sphere, spinning around as the Smilodon's empty skull sockets peer back intently, his voice switching accordingly, "There are two sides to every story. The question is, do you wish to hear mine, or are the words of Cybertronians and others sufficient to make a decision?" You send a radio message to Torque: You wished for updates on the situation, Autobot Torque? The EDC training base at Decepticon Island. He is here. You receive a radio message from Torque: Wait, what? Is he being detained? Er... EDC and Autobot relations are still a little tenuous after what happened, would I be granted passage to come over? Apocryphacius's faces shift, and he admits, "I just stated that everyone has biases. I will hear you. Even if what they stated is true, it is the nature of people to change through time. What happened may not even be as important as what you want now." He moves over to one of the security cameras used for documenting footage of training exercises, and he pulls out diagnostic equipment. Is the camera actually working? Or are they unhinged in time, as he suspects may be the case? Apocryphacius transforms into his Apocryphacius mode. You send a radio message to Amber MacKenzie: 'Okay' is a relative state of being. That said, I am well enough. My worry about back-up is that while he seems to want me alive for some reason, I have no such assurance about any hypothetical backup. Can I really justify endangering them? You receive a radio message from Amber MacKenzie: You, too, are a worthy member of the EDC, you know, and deserving of protection. I'd get an exo'ed warrior type like Lars, Melody, or Talia to back you up. They should be able to handle a Quintesson, though his temporal skills are worrisome. "Then know that your sources of information are operating under some...false assumptions, or perhaps misconceptions." Archaeonix responds, shifting his faces around back to his normal one once more. Even though he just got 'comfortable' a moment ago, he shifts away from his resting place and begins to move, as if pacing back and forth a bit. "Feel free to record these words for posterity, should you so wish. I will stand behind them, though I find it unlikely your sources would believe me regardless." His gaze does indeed shift to the camera as it is scanned, at which point the old Quint comes to a halt, his active face staring out as if at the ocean waves beyond. "First off. I am not a temporal specialist. I am a temporal -failure-. Once upon a time I was younger and idealistic, and dabbled in experiments in such things as could be called 'temporal mechanics'. And do you know what it got me?" The Triceratops skull rotates around to stare balefully at Apocryphacius. "A failed and broken experiment, and sixty three million rotations of this world around its sun. Waiting. Watching. With no one but myself to talk to. -That- is how much of a temporal 'specialist' I am. Ironically your sources do me more credit than I deserve." Apocryphacius turns the camera on, and he listens. He wonders if he should just be drawing a gun. The question that he has to ask himself whenever he meets another member of his own species is, 'Am I going to have to try to kill him?' Apocryphacius says neutrally, "I would say that there are no failed experiments. You merely revise your model to suit the new facts, and then you move on. That said... I literally cannot imagine what that would be like for you. What you speak of would be traumatic in a way that is incomprehensible to anyone who has not experienced it. Even in your loneliness, you are uniquely alone." You send a radio message to Torque: Apprehended? Gracious, no. I am /trying/ not to upset the being with the potential to break reality. You may give the EDC guards >some code<, but they may give you some trouble, nonetheless... The T-Rex skull spins about for only a moment, but it's an intense one, "NO ONE can understand it, NO ONE! To know even when your own -species- is evolving to its golden age, to know they are out there in space and you CANNOT CONTACT THEM! That you must wait millions of years for a ship to crash and bring the technology you need..." Archaeonix's entire body spins like a top for a moment before settling back on his 'Quint' face as he struggles to compose himself, one of his tendrils massaging at his metallic forehead, "I am not as time removed from you as you might think. I am originally -of- this time. Of this era. Or rather, several decades ago. I do not know specifically the year, but close enough as in the great wheel of time it is inconsequential. I built a time machine. A time -ship- in truth, and intended to travel to the past. My motives? Selfish to others, perhaps, but with the intent of restoring for the benefit of -our- people. The Quintessons. Your sources think I wish to conquer the Cybertronians...?" He snorts at that, two of his other tendrils folding behind his 'back' as he begins to pace again. "They flatter themselves. Our people are slowly dying out, and that is what I care about. Autobot, Decepticon. I care not. They can have their war for all I care. They -deserve- each other." At that, he turns and stares STRAIGHT at the camera as if to make his point quite clear. "What -I- did was in the interest of my own species' survival. Is that a crime?" You receive a radio message from Torque: Mm, alright, I'll try that. Either way, I'm on my way over, so just try and keep him there until I arrive, please. "An interesting question, and the answer will depend on whom you ask. And on where you ask them," Apocryphacius replies, rather neutrally. He adds, for the sake of reciprocity, "I am about 70 Terran years old, as near as I can determine, give or take. I only found out what I even am five years ago. Quintessa was destroyed by their war long - but not a blink by your standards - before I ever knew it was ever a thing that had existed. Is the sake of the species, then, why you are here?" His optics narrow, but his voice turns wry, even amused. "If all you wanted was a tissue sample for cloning, you could have asked before now. I bleed freely enough." "So if /not/ that... Cularatius, Traumortis, and Narcophus were interested in my research on partially extra-dimensional crystals. They had their own research, but I examined a number of frequencies that I believe they did not touch." He pauses. "Out of common sense. That research I have done is the only interesting thing about me to happen in recent times. I cannot imagine that my treason is of any interest to you." "Do not get ahead of yourself, young one," Archaeonix drawls in a tone that comes across as...either amused, or irritated. Or perhaps a bit of both given the mouths of his other faces are moving a bit too. "You will learn precisely why I have approached you in due time, and no sooner. And when you have, you will make an important decision based on the facts presented to you. Until then..." The Mammoth face shifts around to stare long and hard before speaking slowly, "Patience." "Suffice it to say my failed experiment stranded me in the past far beyond what I had expected. And so total was my failure that the ship itself was damaged beyond any use or repair. It was only because I knew of the Cybertronians' eventual arrival on this world that I would have an opportunity, but I had a long, long wait ahead of me. When the moment arrived, yes I took possession of their leaders. Yes, I attempted to repair my machine. I wanted to go -home-. After so long, I wanted nothing more to go HOME. My old mission didn't matter anymore, I wanted to see my beloved Quintessa again, the homeworld, because when I left it was still intact. I will not apologize for my desperation to get home! Suffice it to say, the unexpected arrival of Cybertronians from my own time set events into motion that...strangely, worked out in the end when I was forced into stasis alongside the others to sleep out the remaining years. No doubt the Decepticons would have wished to destroy me, the Autobots to imprison me indefinitely were it not for the failsafe I had managed to implement to awaken before they did. And even then, I did not take the advantage I had over their sleeping forms. No, no I left them be. Let bygones be bygones...I was going to go home. And you know what I found when I began to search for information on what had befallen Quintessa?" "NOTHING!" THe Tyrannosaurus skull roars suddenly. "NOTHING! Quintessa, gone. Destroyed. Our home world dust in space...our people scattered across the vast expanse, a shattered race clinging to delusions of power as they slip closer and closer to extinction. Do you understand yet?" Finally Archaeonix moves again, body rotating rapidly as his QUint face draws closer to look eye-to-eye with Apocryphacius, his voice low and intense as he speaks clearly and deliberately. "We are a critically. Endangered. Species." Of course Apocryphacius is going to try to guess what Archaeonix wants out of him. It is natural to pose explanations. As he said, a tissue sample doesn't make sense; Archaeonix could have had that any time he wanted. So it has to be something else. The extra-dimensional crystal research is the obvious thing. If Archaeonix really had trouble getting off an /island/, then transportation cannot be one of his strong points. Apocryphacius has meddled with one-ended teleportation (and dimensional gates, as a side-effect of the former). He imagines that a properly raised and trained Quintesson would be able to do rather more interesting things with his findings in those areas. Unless it is the Dream Machine? It /can't/ be the transgenic pumpkins. Shrinking back a bit, timid by nature, he agrees, "We are indeed. I am sorry for your suffering." He is, actually, for all that he is still debating how he would try to kill Archaeonix, if it was asked of him. Pain is pain, whoever feels it. "Forgive my conjecture." You receive a radio message from Amber MacKenzie: You still there, dude? You send a radio message to Amber MacKenzie: I am there, Miss MacKenzie. You receive a radio message from Amber MacKenzie: Glad to hear it. I was thinking about calling in the National Guard. A long moment of silence follows, as Archaeonix continues to stare at the younger Quint, and if he takes any solace in how Apocryphacius shrinks away, he doesn't show it. Slowly, he scuttles back a few paces again, turning to face back out towards where the ocean is, "You can be sorry, but you cannot comprehend, of course. Through no fault of your own. Raised on an alien world, you did not have a chance to be familiar with the homeworld. To learn what it is to be Quintesson." Slowly, one tendril snakes down, finding some sand to coil through idly. "It is not any of your research that interests me, as...quaint as some of it may be. Primarily, it is who you -are-, that can play an important role. I will explain fully at a later time, but not tonight. For now I leave you with this, and inadvertently put you at a crossroads of a decision to make." So slowly, Archaeonix's body turns to face the younger quint again, that one can hear the faint *WHIRRR* of machinery cranking, "There may be a chance, that we can save our people from the inevitable oblivion to which they spiral in blissfull ignorance. We may be able to preserve the Quintessons so that we do not simply vanish into the night and become another checkmark in history of those who have passed, and you may have a very important role to play. You will not be required to betray the trust of your allies, in fact." His face darkens a bit, mouth turning down slightly. "But know that some of them would no doubt regard it as a betrayl anyway. Even most of the so called Autobots would never approve of any attempts to 'help' the Quintessons, even with the goal of our race's survival. They may very well look upon you unfavorably for even having innocently listened to the idea without having formed a decision yet." He finally waves one tendril, in a dismissive motion, "Regardless. Take time now, and think about what it means to you to be a Quintesson. And whether it matters. There is much you can still learn, if you are curious of your roots. Think on it. This is not the sort of thing to process in a single night." What has it meant to Apocryphacius, to be a Quintesson? Pain. If he had a nickel for every time that he has wished that he had come to life a human - or a Nebulan - or even one of those tricursed Transformers, his riches would make even Mirage envy. Apocryphacius has been told, time and again, that his species is dangerous and not to be trusted. The fact is, as a result, he does not trust his own judgement. Apocryphacius has this perhaps ludicrous fear or waking up after a bender with inside a skull-shaped base with a death ray on the moon. It is easier, if unsatisfying, simply to obey the rules given to him and let someone else take the blame for how he acts. He admits, faces shifting with a click, "I am a singularly bad judge of character." Two of his tentacles twist together in nervousness. Apocryphacius thinks about that Autobot black ops team, long and hard. About the tubes on Mars. What his duty would ask of him is simple. What is right... he honestly has no idea, and it hurts even to think about it. Maybe this is all smoke and mirrors. Misdirection. Keep him occupied to keep him from looking at something else. There /can't/ be anything all that interesting about him. There just can't be. "...but I am curious. To say anything otherwise would be a lie." Apocryphacius transforms into his Apocryphacius mode. "Excellent," comes the curt response, "Curiosity is healthy. Curiosity leads one to learn more, leads to discovery, and advancement. To be curious..." Archaeonix's Quint face grins just slightly, "...is to be Quintesson. The entire span of your short life, you have been told what to think of your own species by those who are, in turn, not of your own species. There are two sides to every story. It would do you well to expand your curiosity, to explore and learn more. Gather the facts and look upon them objectively, having experienced both sides of the figurative sphere...and then making an informed decision." Tendrils writhing in a pleased fashion at having been able to have a soapbox moment out of this, Archaeonix abruptly turns then, starting to scuttle away slowly. "I have overstayed my alotted time here, and now must depart. Think upon what I have told you tonight." The old Quint keeps scuttling towards the shoreline, pausing only long enough to look back one last time, "You cannot change what you are, only how you perceive yourself." With those final words, Archaeonix resumes his course, scuttling towards the beach, down the sand and into the waves themselves...until the last of them have lapped up and over the ovoid body and taking him completely out of sight. Apocryphacius allows Archaeonix to go without any attempt to stop him. The fact is, Apocryphacius is uncertain about the EDC's ability to effectively capture an elder Quintesson, no matter how Archaeonix claims his temporal skills are overstated. Apocryphacius is actually uncertain if the EDC could even keep /Apocryphacius/ here if he genuinely wanted go. If the EDC tries to capture Archaeonix, they could just make him angry, and for all that Archaeonix claims that he just wants to go home... and home is no longer extant, Archaeonix could just be lying. He could be planning some elaborate revenge. The actual method of leaving makes Apocryphacius tilt to one side... and laughs. How to get off an island? Learn to swim. Torque has arrived. Amber MacKenzie arrives via GroundBridge terminal from EDC HQ - Ground Bridge Hub - . WHOOSH! Amber MacKenzie has arrived. Marissa Faireborn is quiet, makes a note on her notepad but doesn't look at the computer. "I'll take time to look at that later. What else do you have to tell me?" she asks politely. Amber MacKenzie has waited long enough and finally groundbridges in, having done the sensible thing and queries the mainframe on Apocryphacius's current location. She's staring suspiciously around even before she finishes materializing, but there are no Jurassic Park refugees in sight. Lots of nice cover, even for a Quintesson, she grouses to herself. Apocryphacius is alone out on the training grounds, fiddling with the memory card on a security camera. Archaeonix has JUST LEFT, leaving Apocryphacius with some uncomfortable food for thought. Telling the difference between the right thing and the legal thing and the wrong thing and the illegal thing has always been tricky for Apocryphacius. His own judgement is suspect simply due to his species. His instincts are liable to be abhorrent by the standards of most civilised species; somewhere in his evolutionary tree, there is a relentless ocean-going predator, not a social ape or a helpful service robot. If he cannot trust his own thoughts, what can he trust? When he sights Amber, Apocryphacius turns and addresses her, "Miss MacKenzie. Archaeonix is gone. The area should be safe for you. One moment and I will have a copy of the security footage for you." Apocryphacius transforms into his Apocryphacius mode. Amber MacKenzie nods in understanding and casually strolls about the urban warfare area, occupying herself by examining the wreckage of what was originally a Decepticon area. "I wonder if they don't use magnesium in their metal alloys," she murmurs ot herself. "Things on Cybertron, metal or not, still seem to burn..." The ruins don't hold her attention for long, so she speculates on what Archaeonix had to say. Security footage is good and will tell them something. She's interesting in any physical changes, which may imply how long he's been around, as well as any mental changes. Have the prehistoric faces taken control again and silenced the remaining Quintesson face? Apocryphacius pulls away from the security camera with a pair of copies of the footages. One of the copies he offers to Amber. He says absently, "Metal fires are nasty. Some are so hot, they will break down even water. Have to use chemical retardants instead. Now, ah... could we discuss the statute of limitations?" Apocryphacius twiddles a pair of tentacles together in front of his active face. Amber MacKenzie accepts the copy and lounges on a fallen palm tree trunk. "It doesn't make much sense to me, but I'll take your word for it." She pauses and arches a brow. "Statute of limitations? I'd ask if you'd committed any crimes recently, but that's up in the air right now. If it helps, I don't think you'll have a problem; you're not the only EDCer who followed Cross." Falling silent a moment, she remembers Compton Xabat and sighs regretfully. "In fact, almost all of them did." "Nothing to do with me," Apocryphacius replies cheerily, "I will have my court martial for my actions whenever General Faireborn deems it fit. I am asking about Archaeonix. Can he be held responsible for events that happened before humanity evolved? More importantly, will he be? Even if we were going to hold him responsible..." He deliberately turns the security camera off. "We /cannot/ trust the Autobots to treat him fairly." He touches one of his machete-scars. "And there are those tubes on Mars." Amber MacKenzie shrugs. She doesn't agree with the Quintesson's assessment of his case, but time will tell. She'll have to pester the General about making a decision on those troops. If she had to take a guess, she'd deduce that Marissa is weeding through the ones who thought they were serving the new EDC commander and the ones that were/are part of MECH. Bloody hell, what a stupid acronym. She eyes Apocryphacius thoughtfully. "Good question. Current law had no notion of the existence of time travel at the time it was established. And... it may be considered a Cybertronian matter, since the crimes in question were committed against Cybertronians. Then again, Earth is *our* jurisdiction. I could make a case for either perspective. So... you liked him?" Amber MacKenzie nods slowly. "And you want to give him a chance." She tilts her head and looks up at the looming Apocryphacius. "Like the chance that Franklin Cross *didn't* get? Or because you want at least *one* other of your race to be a decent hum... er, a decent being? Or am I just a lousy armchair psychologist?" she adds with a hint of humor. "I can understand these things, both ways. My own assessment of Archaoenix is that he's been alone for a terrible, almost inconceivable amount of time, and he may simply want company of his own kind. Well, outside of his other faces. Still, caution is a good thought. Hope for the best, but expect the worst. Conduct as much of your business with him via radio rather than in person." Apocryphacius's tentacles steeple. He quibbles, "Not a 'chance'. I just want to see the right thing done, and I... have no idea what the right thing even is. I can barely tell right and legal apart on my best days, malum in se vice malum prohibitum, and Miss Mackenzie.... I have not had one of my best days in a very, very long time. Now, what General Cross did to Triggerhappy? That was wrong, I can tell you that much. It does not matter that Triggerhappy is an awful person who enjoys wrecking up air shows for no coherent reason. Triggerhappy did not deserve what General Cross did to him... and General Cross did not deserve to be killed by Triggerhappy, no matter what General Cross had done. So my worry is simply this: if we capture Archaeonix, is there /anywhere/ that he is going to get a fair trial? Or are the things he has done simply so atrocious that I should not even be concerned? Do his past actions outweigh any current change of mind? And... could we even realistically keep him captive?" Apocryphacius looks increasingly agitated. "Really? And what if trying to take him captive only made him angry? /I/ could do some amazingly awful things if I was sufficiently motivated. I shudder what to think he might be able to do. Anyway, I... do not even know what his frequency is. He just shows up out of the blue." Amber MacKenzie sighs and rises to her feet, still looking up at the Quintesson. Hey, he may be wimpy compared to Cybertronians, but not to an ordinary human. "You lack self confidence, and understandably so. The human race is full of lies and hypocrisy, and it's hard to tell right from wrong. If it helps, I do have some confidence in you, because you *have* made some major, major decisions rightly. Yes, what Cross and Triggerhappy did was wrong. However, you still have a lot to learn. Pick some role models and watch them. Ask them about what confuses you and why." She begins to pace. "About Archaeonix... Personally, if he stays out of trouble, I have no problem with him, but it's not up to me, especially if he's arrested for war crimes against the Cybertronians. If he *is* captured... maybe take it to the galactic community for a fair trial. As for angering him... if he isn't already angry at us for messing up his plans in the past, then he's not going to be any more angry now. Plus, other members of his race haven't done a whole lot against us, either." "And the radio frequency?" She smirks. "Just ask him the next time you see him. And give him my greetings, if you wouldn't mind." Apocryphacius rubs the 'back' of his dome sheepishly. 'Just ask him'. Duh. Then his natural tendency to play Devil's advocate comes to the fore, and he points out seriously, "The galactic community does not exactly like Quintessons all that well. Even the Planet Lightning entities knew what I was - and hated me for it. We seem to be so uniformly terrible that there would be no chance of securing a fair trial anywhere, which is a quandary in and of itself. Would I simply be doing the universe a favour if I tried to kill every Quintesson I meet? Am I, in fact, doing the universe a disservice by /not/ trying to kill every Quintesson I meet?" Amber MacKenzie didn't know that and hmmmms. "That's pretty damning, isn't it? But you're all still individuals, and who's to say that if we found more young Quintessons, they couldn't learn to be less, er, terrible. Nature vs. Nurture. You're proof of it, though you're having trouble understanding due to NOT NECESSARILY BAD racial characteristics. Maybe you should consider having kids one day so you can bring them up right." She pauses, frowning. "The Earth hasn't been hit as hard by the Quintessons as other places. You might find an unbiased jury here." Good thing Dr. Violens is dead; he probably couldn't find an unbiased jury in the entire galaxy. Apocryphacius is completely, absolutely mortified. His tentacles even turn an odd shade of green. He stares at Amber like a deer in the headlights. Then he sputters, "I... uhm... I... think that would be a really awful idea. Uhm. Let us never speak of that again. Agreed?" He shudders with revulsion, making a face. Paternal instincts are for suckers and chumps. "...but, you are General Faireborn's... secretary, are you not?" A polite fiction. "What would be your recommendation, should Archaeonix visit again? Should I try to capture him?"
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