HONORING 23 YEARS OF METATISIC
1985 - 2008

“They haven’t come to trade.” Metatisic assess. “They’ve brought nothing with them to do so, but him .. him him!” He spat, “He snaps pictures and records everything in sight!”

SCENE SUMMERY: Puzzled by the visiting Cybertronians excessive need to record and data log every thing, the Decepticon Dourjer, Metatisic begin to ponder the true of their agenda.

SOME WORDS TO KNOW..

Dourjer -- (doe-ger) The ancient title of a Decepticon monarch/king
Sarterius -- (Sar-ter-i-us) A general-in-chief serving under a Decepticon named, Metatisic. He’s a stern and unmovable mech who feels everyone and everything is guilty until proven innocence.
Bractos -- (Br-ack-tus) A capital metropolis in ancient times
Iysurus -- (eye-ser-us) This grand temple mount is the central lotus of Bractos as well as the grand palace of the Dourjer.



Bractos - PL-D2; The Great Hall - The Iysurus
(Something amiss ...)


They had come into his house, into his land and domain, looking about themselves as though they were among miracles. Not sometimes, but always. The Cybertronians had gazed hungrily at the bronze flutes of photon that dotted the corridors along side unselective dances of fire-light. Even the sudden thrum of one of the many bridges was enough to have one of the Autobots pointing again. Simple things; commonplace technology that he himself had long since dulled appreciation for. It was passive behavior at first, but —

Metatisic sat in silence, his hands clasped, his observation still held the exit ahead they had departed through and arrested upon one of the twin feldspar bowls that defined the doorframe. Cyclonus watched from the Dourjer’s right. Metatisic never left focus off the dish, not even for Sarterius and Chamfer’s offhand chatter between them – regarding the Autobots no doubt, even if the future jet couldn’t understand their Delepic speech.

A spring of photon nearby infused a hint of warmth into the moonstone basin’s translucent coldness, while liquid blue, toned to indigo, shimmered a wintry variegation. Metatisic stared into the feldspar’s depths, like some old-fashioned clairvoyant gazing into a crystal ball, as though fascinated by the subtle shades; in truth, the Decepticon monarch looked beyond that interior, seeking perhaps the in-most part of his own self. But searching for something else as well: grasping for a link, a connection, ---an access code.

"You don't think they may have come here looking for new territory away from these creatures they’ve mentioned do you?"

Metatisic’s sudden enquiry was unexpected. His attention left the exit now and landed squarely on Sarterius.

"If they have, they've thought wrong."

“I’m saying that it is peculiar.” The Dourjer explained. He shooed off a house-servant who had just come to see if he might need a refill. “No.” He said and then focused back on his chief-general.

“Imagine. Trekking the entire stretch of the zone. No means of flight. Even if I had fancied meeting them at last, their reasons for actually coming into Ta’nak doesn’t appear to have a purpose to it.”

“At least not one they were willing to give.” Chamfer, with his arms crossed, offered without a moment’s hesitation. Much like his commander, Sarterius, he was always ready to dish out speculation whether it was deserved or not. Handling renegade networks had taught him that quality, but it wasn’t any less evident in his king and god either.

“The thinner one .. What’s his name?” Metatisic asked.

“Voyager?”

“Yes, him --the post. He said that their Emirate knew legends enough to have expected the probability of there being mechanoids already here.”

The Dourjer rose. So deep in thought that it pinched his brow and made slits of his optics, he passed Cyclonus’ shoulder, circled to the rear of his seat and stopped there resting crossed arms along it’s back and propping his chin upon a fist.

“They haven’t come to trade.” Metatisic assess. “They’ve brought nothing with them to do so, but him .. him him!” He spat, “He snaps pictures and records everything in sight!”

To Rumble, Metatisic appeared as though he were in pain. Not the physical sort, but the mental variety delivering it’s war of logic and reason with tiny repeated knife jabs that forced Galvatron’s parent to close his eyes. The Dourjer believed their rouse easily, but still that new trust didn’t deny facts: “Scourge, you should have just shut your damn yap.” Rumble didn’t say it out loud opting to grind his heel into the Sweep leader’s boot instead when he was sure those in the room were not looking.

“This is your fault.” The cassette cursed vaguely.

“How is the Autobots coming here my fault?”

“That.” Rumble muffled into his hand in between a cough. “Because you just had to call them, ‘Autobots’. He fake coughed again, “Metatisic is already assuming stuff.”

“Cyclonus.” Metatisic leaned up on his elbow first before he left the throne cantering towards him. His helm tipped just slightly. “What do you think?”

“Mighty one?”

“The Autobots. What do you think?”

Cyclonus thought about what he ‘could’ say: “No! Don’t do it! We’ll eternally regret the affair!” Rumble was right! Even with the added quantum of Metatisic’s new blessings. As remote as it may seem, their words and their presence had the probability of alternating their future lives – or, even worse, maybe even destroying it! Scourge could not have known that the Cybertronians had not taken the title of ‘Autobots’ just yet in this time line, but they obviously didn’t. Was it a small and minor thing? Perhaps, but if he offered a sentiment now based on what he understood from the future.

“Cyclonus?”

“Is it fair, my league, for me to offer an opinion of the alien robots?” The lieutenant opted for no judgement at all, “After all, I, myself, and my own comrades were discovered in much the same manner."

“I think they’re spies.”

For once Cyclonus was so thankful that Sarterius had chosen to interrupt.

“Master, I am sure they’ve been sent here to count our numbers.” The general flared and took a position between the jet and the Dourjer. “The thin one spoke of wrestling Cybertron away from it’s current owners and the female one backed it.”

Metatisic regarded him for some time before speaking again. Cyclonus saw that same deep focus being inducted again as he had so studious on the Great Hall’s exit earlier. The brightness was gone from the windows of his optics, but replaced with a different kind of gleaming.

“So did the large one.” He added, thought for a moment more and then continued, “And you heard that on what little contact they managed. ... Sarterius, what type of ruler, in the midst of war, licenses independent diplomats out into the middle of absolute nowhere?” Metatisic tone shifted suddenly. His voice was hollow, the tail end of an echo with allegation, “To take pictures .. To take data recordings?”

He lingered on a ‘hmmm’ looking wide and stern at his chief-general who only sniggered:

“Spies, master.”  

(Scene from Metatisic: Part Fourteen, chapter 17 - Truth revelations)