He returned to the base and found it quiet.

It was never completely silent - there was always the underlying hum of machinery, the hiss of the vents, the throb of the generators. Those were still there. But there was no chatter, no footsteps, no signs of life. They were a boisterous group - there should be sounds of people.

Knowing what would come next but unable to stop himself, he passed through the entry chamber into the building proper.

What he found was not the aftermath of a battle; it was the aftermath of a slaughter. Not one body was left intact; all were torn apart, many missing pieces that would never be found. But despite the torn bodies, strewn about the floor, thrown over furniture, a few even crushed into the walls, despite the chaos of heads and limbs and torsos, it did not feel random. There was purpose here, a message written in the twist of bodies, the blood, the expressions of fear on the victims' faces.

He knew the victims, knew them all, but he could not remember their names.

He wanted to search for survivors, his nature demanded it, but protocol was stronger, and protocol was that he was to signal for help first so there would at least be a record. He knew searching would come to nothing anyway. He had been here before. There were never survivors.

He flew to the communications centre, fumbled with the controls. They were damaged but not so much that he could not send a signal. He activated the system, hoping that someone would be close enough to hear. "They are dead. They are all dead ..."

Other Vengeance 2.0
Someone I Forgot
( part one )
wayward@insecticons.com
 

She was tired, she was hungry, and she hoped no one would notice her. Blackarachnia taunted Scorponok often enough about how he got so involved in his work that he forgot about everything else that it wouldn't do to be caught at it herself. It was midnight; she should have begun her recharge a megacycle ago but she'd lost track of time in the materials lab, working on a new grapple-gun light enough for her to carry in this form. It might have been avoidance - Blackarachnia didn't like to sleep. She stepped off the small lift that connected the main deck and the quarters section ...

"Blackarachnia!"

Because she was tired and because she was thinking of Scorponok it took Blackarachnia a second to realise it was someone else entirely. "Silverbolt?"

He stumbled out of a side corridor, trying to run but his feet not quite obeying his commands. Blackarachnia thought he was going to touch her and took a step back, but he stopped a few steps away and hunched his feathered cloak around his shoulders. Barefoot and missing his tabard, his long black hair tangled - she'd never seen him looking such a mess, not even those few times she'd caught a glimpse of him while he was malfunctioning. He had a hunted look to him - Silverbolt couldn't focus on her, his gaze flicking around the corridor like he expected an attack. "Nothing has ... happened? Everything is all right?"

"As much as it can be," said Blackarachnia, shrugging, too tired to get into how nothing would be 'all right' until they were metal again. "What's got you so worked up, Maximal?"

Silverbolt relaxed, closing his eyes and letting his shoulders sag. "I have been foolish. I knew better yet still allowed my fears to command me."

She didn't want to get into a conversation but it was always useful to know what the enemy was afraid of. "Knew better than what?"

"I knew it was only a nightmare but felt compelled to make certain it was not real." He shook his head, trying to clear it, then opened his eyes. "It was seeing my comrades hurt by the explosion. It must be ... Only that happened four days ago so why do I dream of it now? And the dream was not like that. There were too many bodies and it was not an accident ... There was not so much blood ... There were burns on the walls but not on the bodies ..."

Or not so useful. "You're babbling."

Silverbolt stopped immediately. "My apologies."

Blackarachnia waved the apology away. "Forget it. At least you don't scream yourself awake." She rubbed at her eyes. "Ugh, why am I even going to bed? I think everyone's been having nightmares since the change."

"Yourself as well?" He didn't believe there had been a change but he was too polite to argue.

"Yeah, and it's always the same one. I'm walking down a corridor. It's not my choice - there're two ... none of your business, Maximal," she snapped, remembering herself.

Silverbolt took a step back and gave a short bow. "Then I will trouble you no further. Thank you for your reassurances, Blackarachnia. Good night."

She watched him start back towards the side corridor. I'm walking down a corridor. It's not my choice - there are two guards behind me, marching me along. I can hear their feet clanking ... "Silverbolt, wait," she started. "Who was killed in your dream? All of us? Just your Maximal friends?"

Silverbolt turned, blinking in surprise, and drew his cloak tightly around himself. "No. No one from here. I did not know their names." Then, almost to himself, "I should know their names ..."

"What did they look like?" Blackarachnia asked, approaching him. "Were they flesh like us?"

"They were ..." Silverbolt frowned, brow furrowing in concentration. After a moment he gave up. "People."

Maybe a different angle would yield a straight answer. "What colour was the blood?"

"Red, of course ..." Again the frown. "No. I do not remember."

"Was it the Axalon?"

"No." This time, Silverbolt sounded certain. "It was a building, not a ship."

As far as Silverbolt was concerned, he'd existed for a grand total of eleven days - the Axalon was the only structure he'd ever known, and its crew and the Predacons were the only people. On the other hand it wasn't as if Silverbolt didn't know what a building was, the rest of them talked about being robots enough, he had to have seen Crossbolt's shell, and there had been a lot of blood in the cargo bay - he did have enough pieces that his mind could have woven them into a nightmare. But he had said something else, something he sounded too certain of ... "'There were burns on the walls but not on the bodies. It wasn't an accident'," Blackarachnia said. "So what happened?"

"It was ... it was a ..." The Maximal's face twisted in horror and he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I cannot say!"

"You don't want to say." Blackarachnia frowned. "Or do you mean you don't remember?"

"I cannot say," Silverbolt repeated. "I cannot ... No!" He shuddered, lowered his hands, and stepped away from her. "I am sorry. Thank you for your time."

The Maximal fled into the lift. Blackarachnia shook her head, annoyed at herself for feeling more affected by a Maximal's worries than she ought to. Tales of death didn't frighten her, but something about Silverbolt's insistent I cannot say twitched at her mind like a fly caught in a web. She would think about it when she wasn't so tired.

He cursed his weakness and laid down padding but that was the only change - Dinobot still slept curled up on the floor. Lately his dreams had been filled with blood and shrapnel, which neither surprised nor worried him. He'd been through worse. He'd caused worse. 'Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death ...'

He was sitting in the xenobiology lab, shrapnel buried deep in the synthflesh of his arm and the metal of his leg. The wounds didn't hurt though they leaked thick organic blood. He couldn't move. This didn't worry him yet.

Megatron was there, behind him, but Dinobot knew he was prepping his tools for surgery. He was speaking quietly, his deep voice soothing. Dinobot was dimly aware that Megatron had been talking for some time: "... cannot turn your back on us. You know why there are Predacon outlaws. Perhaps this is simply a pattern for you, this rebellion. Perhaps you cannot help yourself. But you run from the one who gave you your freedom right into the hands of those who oppress us!"

It is not that way! 'In thy foul throat thou lie'st!' Dinobot tried to say the words but found himself unable to speak.

Megatron stepped around in front of him, energon-pink optics dimmed in sympathy. "I gave you your soul when others had locked it away and this is how you repay me?" The smooth voice softened with regret. "I offered you so much. All you had to do was accept it."

'To take is not to give.' His body still refused to obey him, forcing him to listen without argument. You didn't give me my life, only claimed it for yourself.

Megatron reached down and lightly cupped Dinobot's chin, thumb running over his lower lip. "It's not too late, Dinobot. Renounce the Maximals. Come back to us. Come back to me."

The touch was wrong. Instead of the silvery scrape of metal on metal, it was smooth and soft and ...

... Real!

Dinobot uncurled, kicking out with his feet and striking Megatron in the chest. Caught off-guard, Megatron, who had been crouched over him, fell back and landed heavily. He recovered his breath in seconds but by then the lights were on and the point of a sword was at his chest. Megatron sighed and settled back, making an obvious show of surrender. "Very well."

"Don't tempt me." It would be easy. Very easy. Self-defence - even the Maximals would accept that. Except I would know it was a lie. Megatron was helpless and hadn't actually attacked him. Dinobot took a step back and turned the sword away. "'Arise, dissembler'," he said, shaking off the last of the dream. "Why are you here?"

Megatron sat up, rubbing the back of his head where it had bounced off the floor. "I just wanted to talk. Is that so wrong?"

Dinobot cut to the point he considered the most important: "You broke into my quarters while I was asleep!"

"And such a sound sleeper you are." The Predacon commander stood, theatrically dusting himself off. "Your hearing seems to be improving at least."

"No thanks to you." His audios seemed to be repairing themselves. "How long have you been here?"

"Oh, maybe half a megacycle," said Megatron offhandedly. "Nor is this the first time."

He said it so casually that Dinobot almost missed it. "Not the first time -?"

"Honestly, finding you was more challenging than cracking the lock."

"Answer me," Dinobot growled. "How many times, Megatron?"

Megatron sighed as if he found the question insufferably tedious. "This would be number three. Did the Maximals bury you down here or was this a choice?"

"Choice." Dinobot found the Axalon's Maximal-scaled quarters far too tight and so he had commandeered the small storage bay below the stasis hold months ago. He pointed the sword at Megatron again. "Say what you came to say and get out."

Megatron smiled, sardonic, triumphant. "I've already said it."

"You put the effort into finding me, broke into my quarters, and spent half a megacycle talking to me as I slept," said Dinobot, trying to make sense of it. He gave up. "Why?"

Megatron stopped smiling. "I am perfectly within my rights to be here."

"Those debts are long paid."

"Fine. I am a patient mechanism. You'll get over this silly Maximal phase and return to your senses eventually."

"I am not a Maximal," said Dinobot, "and I am not yours."

Megatron stalked out. Dinobot waited until he was certain his former commander had left before lying down again, this time with his sword in his hand instead of hung on the wall. He got up after a few minutes. He couldn't sleep, not with his quarters no longer secure. Dinobot considered his options and went up to the command centre. If nothing else, there would be a Maximal there.

He was surprised to find all of the Maximals there. Dinobot stood in the doorway, uncertain. "Was there a meeting I was not informed of?"

Quickstrike waved him over. "Nah, it's just the mornin' grub-'n-gab session."

"Oh. Yes." It was a ritual that had begun five days ago - in the quiet of the sixth shift, before the Predacons woke up, the Maximals refuelled together. It was a morning staff meeting, a chance to catch up with each other, and probably good for morale. They had offered to do it later so that Dinobot could participate but he had no interest in doing so. The Maximals were surprised he was there but they were welcoming.

"Hey, chopperface! Not used to seeing you this side of the sunrise! Or so much of you. Do those stripes go all the way down?"

Dinobot cursed inwardly. His encounter with Megatron had left him so distracted he hadn't thought to get dressed. He hadn't even noticed the rough chill of the deck plates until he was reminded he had no boots. To Dinobot, clothing was armour - flimsy armour, but all he had now. Stumbling in half-clothed, not even taking the time to pull on his shirt or boots or to tie his hair back, meant he was vulnerable. Not that there was any defence against a disgustingly cheerful Rattrap. "You needn't remind us that yours do," Dinobot said bitterly.

"I am following the Way of the Tiger," Rattrap intoned. Behind him, Tigatron snorted but didn't bother turning from where she stood working at the navigation station. Rattrap had taken to wearing nothing but boots and a hair clip for the last four days, not out of choice. He was still half gray from the protein polymer striped across his limbs and back. Clothing rubbed on his wounds. It rubbed on Dinobot's as well but he ignored the pain.

Something was wrong and it took Dinobot a moment to realise what it was. "Optimus is not here."

"He had the midnight shift," said Rhinox. "He's gone to bed." Dinobot cursed himself again: I knew that. Optimus always takes the midnight shift, of course he would be asleep now. Why must it take so long for my processor to reboot?

Most of the Maximals had finished eating and were just hanging around the central table and chatting. There weren't quite enough chairs - all were filled so Tigatron and Silverbolt had both opted to stand. Airazor got up so Dinobot could take her seat and he was too tired to argue that he didn't need it. "What're you doing up so early?" she asked.

"I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep." It was true enough. Dinobot found himself between Quickstrike and Cheetor, and inspected what was laid out on the table. Since he had come in late there wasn't much left; a few different kinds of fruit and a couple of gray-blue eggs. Nothing he was interested in - his body might have been omnivorous but he had carnivore preferences.

Rattrap leaned across the table to push an egg at him. "Try it. Tigatron found 'em down by the lake yesterday."

"I was trying to catch the bird itself," said Tigatron. "I thought the eggs might be an acceptable substitute. As well, the more variety in our fuel sources the better, if only so we know our options."

"I like 'em," said Rattrap, which was no real recommendation. The only things he wouldn't eat were rodents, out of loyalty to his beast-mode. Dinobot considered it oddly squeamish of him. "Careful, though - it'll shatter all over you if you just bite into it. We found it's easiest to punch a hole in the end, suck out the liquid, then crunch the shell. Liquid bird in a can."

The Maximals would fuss at him until he ate something. Dinobot picked up the egg and cracked the wider end of the shell with his fingernail. Inside the shell was a thick, yellow slime. "This isn't a bird."

"It would be once it hatched," Tigatron explained.

Dinobot gave the yellow slime a critical look. "Hnh. Bird protoform."

All of the Maximals made faces but Rattrap was the one who voiced it; "Aw, why'd you have to put it that way? Now it just seems gross."

Every day, Megatron reweighed the pros and cons of letting Inferno share his room. Pros: it was comforting to have that extra layer of security in the enemy base. She was tidy and didn't take up much space and it was sometimes useful to have someone there he could talk at while he sorted his thoughts. Inferno didn't seem to need as much recharge as he did and would leave quietly before he awoke to shower, refuel, then would return with fuel for him and any reports pulled from the Maximals. There was really only one con: she would be back before Megatron really wanted to be awake and he couldn't convince her that he needed further recharge. Trying to explain this just made her fuss and ask if he was injured or unwell. Sometimes he tried to sleep again after she left, but by then he was too awake.

Inferno had returned with fuel and reports and disappeared again, gone hunting. The Maximals had tried to install a rule that no one should go out alone in their weakened condition, but since Dinobot and Tigatron both ignored that rule, it wasn't enforced for the Predacons either.

Breakfast finished, Megatron set to work. The first order of business was to get other people to do that work for him. He activated the intercom, connecting to Rhinox's quarters. There was no guarantee the engineer was in but there was no harm checking there first. "Megatron to Rhinox."

The response wasn't immediate and Rhinox was certainly surprised but he was controlled enough that it didn't come through in his voice: "You're up early, Megatron. What are you looking for?"

"You, in fact," said Megatron. He cut the connection - if he didn't play with the Maximals once in a while they'd be more suspicious of him than they already were. Then he picked up the alien sphere that Inferno had found under the Standing Stones, took the short walk down the corridor to Rhinox's quarters, and pressed the door chime.

The door opened. Rhinox frowned up at him warily, blocking the door, arms folded. The change into organic forms had levelled the playing field in some ways - Megatron was still the largest but the gap was no longer as wide. He knew he shouldn't underestimate Rhinox, but the Maximal seemed diminished. It might have been nothing more than that Rhinox always been strong and now that meant less than it used to. "Yes?"

Megatron held up the sphere. "You're the botanist. The interior of the sphere reminds me of a plant. I thought you might have better luck with it than I."

Rhinox didn't move. "The only reason you're sharing your research is because you're stuck."

True enough, not that Megatron would phrase it so. "I told Primal that I would share."

No trap in the device - it was dead and Megatron had spent the last several days studying it himself. The Maximal hesitated before taking it anyway, less out of distrust for the sphere than for the one offering it. "I'll see what I can learn from it."

"You will tell me if you discover anything."

Rhinox looked at him levelly. "We've been sharing our research with you since this truce started."

The Predacon commander nodded, acknowledgement of the statement both as agreement and accusation, and left.

Megatron stopped at his quarters to pick up a previously-packed satchel - basically a box on a shoulder-strap - then continued to Blackarachnia's room. When knocking brought no response, he went down to the materials lab. Blackarachnia seemed to practically live there these days.

She looked up from her work. "What do you want?"

"Time for a little expedition, yes."

Blackarachnia rolled her eyes but she got up, wiping her hands on her trousers. "Anything I need to pack?" He didn't state the destination and she didn't ask - there were times Megatron appreciated having a bright minion who caught on quickly. The Maximals didn't seem to be paying Blackarachnia much attention through the security cameras, but better not to test that.

"A scanner, certainly, and provisions. I expect we'll be out for a few hours at least, until nightfall at the latest. Meet me in the command centre."

Blackarachnia set about collecting a few tools from the lab. Megatron went to the command centre to wait for her. The only Maximal there was Cheetor, which suited him fine. If he had to deal with a Maximal it may as well be a hopelessly naive and dimwitted one. "I will be going out," Megatron announced. "I require a weapon."

Cheetor hesitated but Maximals were nothing if not helpful, other Predacons had been armed without uprising, and if Megatron wanted to attack he would come up with something more clever than 'please arm me'. "Where are you going?"

"Just out on a little field trip," said Megatron. "I don't need much, just something to give the wildlife second thoughts."

"Where to?" Cheetor prodded, pulling down the weapons rack with effort. Though not before typing a code into the computer, Megatron noted. "Come on, I have to sign you out properly," the Maximal continued. "This is for your benefit, too. We don't want anyone getting lost."

"If you insist, the Standing Stones," Megatron lied, giving a destination within walking distance. "Blackarachnia will be joining me - ah," he finished, as the technician walked in. She also carried a supply container, though strapped to her back.

Cheetor handed him a gun - quite small but sufficient for his purposes. Megatron gave it an automatic check to make certain it was charged, then clipped it to his belt. "Come, Blackarachnia."

Once outside, the Predacons went over to the hoversled. Megatron withdrew two small components and a few tools from his satchel, handing a couple to Blackarachnia. "Work quickly. The cat may grow suspicious if he doesn't see us walking away, and call for help."

Blackarachnia knelt to open a panel in the hoversled. "Tarantulas told me you were trying to find out the extent of the amnesia in the pod-spawned Maximals," she said, slotting the part into place. "I think Silverbolt might not be completely wiped."

"Oh?" Megatron finished his own minor repair, stepped onto the hoversled, and activated it. It obediently rose half a metre into the air.

Blackarachnia swung up behind him and Megatron steered it towards the ravine. Let Cheetor yell for the other Maximals - the loader sled was the fastest vehicle they had. They would still be in range of the autoguns for longer than Megatron would have liked, but he was reasonably confidant the Maximals wouldn't shoot him down, not with a truce on.

They were across the ravine in seconds. The ravine that by all rights the Axalon should have fallen into a dozen times over, Megatron thought. I suppose now it's a good thing we never managed that.

"He had a nightmare last night," said Blackarachnia, once the Axalon was behind them, "bad enough that he had to get up and walk it off. I happened to be the first person he saw so he talked to me. He'd come back to the base - it wasn't the Axalon - and found everyone dead. He couldn't say the corpses were human." She paused, probably a shrug. "It's not much but I think he remembers metal, if only subconsciously."

Megatron nodded, steering to follow the trail of obvious destruction. The Flying Island had scraped across the plateau, ripping tears in the stronger rock formations and demolishing the weaker ones. "Spark memories resurfacing, perhaps. Are all his dreams like that?"

"No idea. I could ask him about it. He wouldn't suspect anything."

"Mm, yes, do that. The results may prove useful." After a moment, Megatron asked, "Are you having such dreams?"

"Who wouldn't be having nightmares after this change?" Her tone attempted sarcasm but there was just enough shudder to give away that she was more affected by her dreams than she wanted to admit.

"Myself, for one," said Megatron. Lately he'd found himself dreaming of his creator, which was pleasant - he missed the old surgeon. Once he dreamt that he was his creator. That was unusual, though not entirely unknown. If spark memories are opening up, what will become of Blackarachnia and Inferno? Only their programming was changed - we lacked the equipment to alter their sparks. So long as this limits itself to dreams, there should be no ... complications. Inferno seemed to sleep well enough. He would have to question her.

"Where are we going, anyway?"

"To the wreckage of the Flying Island." It was why he wanted Blackarachnia along specifically - she had the most contact with the place. It wasn't far away from the Axalon, just not easy to get to for non-flyers. The island had crashed into the sandy plain west of the plateau. Neither faction had done a follow-up study of the island, too busy fighting each other to risk picking through the possibly still-dangerous rubble of a smashed alien site.

"Is that a good idea?" Blackarachnia asked, tone stating it wasn't. "Obviously we need to study the alien sites but the island was full of traps. If they're still active we don't stand a chance."

"You seem to have made it out of the area without any trouble."

Blackarachnia fell silent and Megatron returned his thoughts to the question of his reprogrammed minions. Inferno has been acting strangely lately - or not? She has been unhappy and sullen because she believes I am the wrong sex. It's part of her ant delusion and therefore simply Inferno being Inferno.

He was driving so he couldn't look back at Blackarachnia. She seems no different. If she is scheming, it is because she is a schemer.

Both Inferno and Blackarachnia knew they were reprogrammed Maximals. Neither had ever shown an interest in becoming Maximals again, or even curiosity about their former lives. Still, best to keep an optic on them, yes ...

They reached the end of the plateau and the ground dropped away. It was an odd bit of geography - a sandy plain, roughly oval, almost entirely surrounded by cliffs save for one small passage to the jungle.

Megatron glanced back at Blackarachnia, curious how his technician would react to the height. She didn't look frightened - she'd had no fear of heights before - but she was gripping the hoversled's railing tightly. A spider had no fear of heights as long as she had something to hold on to. Well, it will be easier to find what we seek at a lower elevation. The hoversled slowly descended to the plain. He had no particular need to torment Blackarachnia and he knew from experience that too fast a drop made his internals shift - the damp weight of his abdominal organs suddenly making themselves known by feeling like they were trying to migrate into his chest.

They continued the search a few metres above ground level. The debris trail spread out before them, broken sand-coloured rocks and large chunks of darker brown dirt against the drying plain, the latter with an odd sort of melted look, staining the sand a darker brown where the chunk had been dissolved by rain. Patches of green still clung to the larger clumps. There had been a lake on the island but it had spilled and drained away in the crash. Here and there were the remains of broken trees and sometimes oddly round boulders - not perfect spheres, just a bit too regular and too evenly-sized to look natural. There was also metal - long cylinders like pipes, sometimes with three-pronged claws on the end.

"Hammers," said Blackarachnia, who had noticed the same thing. "At least that's one trap that can't spring." They stopped for several minutes to cut a piece of metal from the hammer with a small torch.

The Monument lay near the end of the trail. The tower had snapped off at the base when the island had finally ground to a halt. Between that, Tigatron's destruction of the central machine, and the upheavals of rock and dirt, there was no good place to leave the hoversled. They found a flat enough section closer to what had been the top of the tower. The windows were all smashed - it would be easy to get in if he wanted to inspect the command centre. Another time, perhaps. Today his interest was the machinery.

Blackarachnia took her scanner out of her backpack and fiddled with the settings. "All I'm getting is baseline readings. The Monument is offline."

Megatron unclipped the gun from his belt. "From the reports, there is a way to see if power still flows through the structure."

"Oh?"

"Take cover."

Blackarachnia ran. Megatron fired a shot at the Monument and followed. They ducked behind a large pile of rocks, waited, and when nothing happened for several minutes, ventured out again. "Did the scanner pick up anything?"

"The power levels spiked," said Blackarachnia, checking the readings. "Something is still here, but it's weak."

They walked towards the base of the tower. The reports said it was full of machinery, which seemed off - the other structures tended to look organic, or in the case of the Standing Stones, built from unrefined materials. But the aliens did little that made sense.

Blackarachnia screamed suddenly as the ground fell out beneath her. Fortunately, since the island had crashed, this had the effect of being little more than a sinkhole. "There was no symbol!" Blackarachnia complained, scrambling out of the hole. "The traps were all marked before!"

"So they can detect us in these forms," said Megatron.

"Maybe. The traps were motion-sensors rather than energy-sensors, as far as I could tell."

Megatron looked around. There were rocks of various sizes scattered about the area. On a hunch, he went over to one that looked like it had cracked and fallen off a large boulder, and with effort turned it over. An alien symbol was burned into the stone - not melted and cooled, but seemingly burnt like wood burns. At least that was consistent with the glyphs at the grassland site. "Here. The pattern still holds but we can't rely on visible warnings, no."

Blackarachnia kicked the dirt off her boots. "Not enough power to blast us, but at least some of the traps are still active, and us in these squishy bodies. Great. The deadfalls aren't dangerous any more since we're grounded but I'd rather not have to run a hammer gauntlet."

Trap sprung, harmless now, Megatron could inspect the glyph at his leisure. Scorponok had told him about the trap marker glyphs after he had returned from the island. "This symbol is on the Alien Disc. It cycles between two others."

"Unless the Disc's caused rocks to fall on your head, I don't know what it would mean there." She retreated, putting some distance between herself and the carving. "Maybe if I could inspect the Disc ..."

"I will consider it." Blackarachnia might have some insight towards deciphering the Alien Disc, between her contact with the island and her intelligence. She would be missing pieces - it was unlikely that she would solve the puzzle on her own and become a threat. He returned his thoughts to the carving. "It might be a general warning. A 'danger!' and not a specific 'here is a trap location'," said Megatron. Which could mean this symbol warns of danger from whatever the other two glyphs it cycles with signify, or perhaps warns of certain combinations of symbols ... Or something else entirely. "I rather want to take one back for study, if one is marked on a small enough rock or can be carved off a tree."

"I wouldn't think they'd be easily moved," said Blackarachnia. "A warning is useless if it's not posted in the right place."

"The glyphs may cause the traps. The aliens do seem to like their signalling devices."

Blackarachnia frowned. "No physical trap until the aliens send a signal to transmute the land? So much for being safe from hammer gauntlets if the aliens can just plant new ones. That seems needlessly complicated, though. But a Flying Island at all seems needlessly complicated."

"Perhaps. The Maximal reports of the place seem to believe the island was a test for sapient beings. What qualities they were testing is unknown." Megatron knelt, tracing his fingers along the glyph. "And which sapients? The natives could not reach an island in the sky, not now, if they even exist yet. It will be millions of years before they create flying craft."

"You think it was made to test us?" Blackarachnia had made it the farthest, if taking control of the Monument was in fact the goal. It was plain the idea that she'd been run through a maze disgusted her.

Megatron brushed the dirt off his fingers. "More specifically, I think it was made for Primal. He was the one they took away at the Standing Stones for study. Perhaps the test was meant for all of us, but it was designed around Primal and his capabilities. I wonder what he was supposed to do with it once he claimed it."

On to Someone I Forgot - part two
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