I was going to say that this story came with "absolutely no demand whatsoever." But the last time I did that, I got a chastising (but friendly) letter from a reader who insisted on demanding anything I'll ever write. While I am not sure if that applies to my grocery list, I guess that means there's some desire for this story, then.
Anyway...this is my newest fanfic, and it's a short, uncomplicated little piece. Apologies to people who want epic battles and slam-bang action; there's a lot of mayhem and destruction here, but I don't think it's exactly what people are expecting. I swear, my next story's going to have a good amount of action in it -- I'm just trying to work out a few plot points before I start writing. But in the meantime, this idea also popped up, and it was just begging to be written. So here it is, and I hope people enjoy it.
All characters depicted or mentioned in this story are the trademarks and/or copyrights of their respective holders, except for those that aren't. Any resemblance to actual people, alive or deceased, is coincidental, etc., etc. Geez, it's just a story, guys. Don't get too uptight over it...
Hi. I'm a cosmic being, and I'm bored.
Bet you weren't expecting that, were you? Bet you were expecting something more flowery, like "I am the alpha. I am the omega. I am the mightiest being in the universe, and yet its weakest. I am life and death, Autobot and Decepticon, beginning and end. I am large, I contain multitudes. I'm here, I'm there, I'm everywhere."
Sorry, but that's just too predictable. The super-powered cosmic being who speaks with overloaded formal speech is one of the oldest cliches around, and I should know. Besides, I don't talk like that, so I see no reason why I should write like that. Actually, I don't talk at all, but that's another matter entirely.
Then again, if I were the kind of person to follow the rules, I wouldn't be doing this, would I? What's the point of writing a -- well, "autobiography," I suppose -- that's never going to be read? Completely pointless, sure. But I've got little else to do and absolutely no company for sixty bazillion years or the end of the universe (whichever comes first), so I'll indulge myself.
I am the alpha. I am the omega. I -- oh, forget it.
The time of rest was over. The Dark God Unicron, imprisoned in his metal planetoid, had awakened. While harmless now, he would not remain so forever; already he began to exercise his psionic abilities, learning how to reshape his prison to transform into a robotic copy of his original form.
Primus, Guardian of the Light, needed a plan. Trapped in his own planetoid, he briefly considered matching tactics -- to develop his own psionic abilities and reshape his world into a form capable of fighting the Chaos-Bringer.
The idea was quickly rejected. Primus was unable to defeat Unicron by brute strength in their last encounter. It was only with treachery that Primus had won at all, trapping both himself and Unicron in matching planetoids by a desperate ruse. Deception would not work a second time, and Primus harbored no delusions that he could win in a second confrontation.
Life was the answer. It was that which Primus defended, that which Unicron sought to eliminate, the one area where the Guardian surpassed the Destroyer. So it was appropriate, perhaps inevitable, that life would be the weapon to be used against Unicron. Primus would have to create life, then send it against the Dark God.
And yet, Primus hesitated. For the Plan to succeed, he would have to relinquish control; he could not guide, could not instruct, could not hone. He would have no duty but to light the initial spark. For the power of life came from within -- the tighter he held it, the weaker it would become, until it crumbled to dust. The universe's best chance of victory came only if Primus did nothing.
That was why he hesitated, for Primus knew his children would be flawed. And without his guidance, the future rested on a slender hope: that his creations could -- by themselves -- somehow stumble from ignorance and weakness to wisdom and strength. One might as well abandon an infant in the wilds, then expect it to grow into a proud warrior and single-handedly slay the dragon ravaging the countryside. Possible, but not probable.
With the fate of the universe at stake, he could not accept those terms. A failsafe was needed to improve the odds. A way to guide without guidance, to direct the forces of life without crippling it in the process.
A second idea arrives.
That's my boss. No, not Unicron, the other one. Primus, the Good Guy. If this was a celebrity tell-all book, now would be a good time to drop a few suggestive remarks. Like hinting that the Big "P" enjoyed beating up on little girls or something.
'course, this isn't a tell-all book, so I won't do that. Not that there's anything scandalous to tell, anyway. Primus might not be the God, but he certainly is one, and gods aren't into the simple stuff that tabloids feed on.
To be fair, though, I don't really remember much about Primus. He came to me only once, and that was around fifty million years ago, maybe more. Funny thing is, I've got perfect memory of everything that's ever happened, except for that one encounter. I remember what he said, but not much more than that.
I'm sure he did it, mucking with my memory, although I don't know why he'd bother. After all, like I wrote earlier, it's not as if anyone will ever see anything I write or hear anything I say.
In intergalactic scales, the transformation was instantaneous. Over the course of a hundred years, the surface of the metal planetoid slowly flowed and settled into new configurations. Rough surfaces and unprocessed ore became level sheets of steel and iron. From that grew the basic structures of society, pillars and domes and spires and buildings; all of it flowed from the earth, unbidden and unguided by any known controller.
Then, too, came the first resident. In an isolated area of the new world, the ground curved and collapse on its own accord. A humanoid form -- two arms, two legs, a torso and a head -- took shape. Misshapen lumps coalesced and tightened, repeatedly adding fine details of a hundred different forms.
Finally, at an unseen signal, life appeared. Colors appeared from nowhere, turning the shell of dull grey into a vibrant figure of red and gold and blue and black. Metal fingers flexed slowly, testing the new bounds of existence. Arms moved stiffly for a moment, then quickly developed the confidence to lift the body to an upright position. With shaky steps, the mechanoid climbed to its feet, then staggered away from the mold of its -- his -- womb.
This robot's steps were slow and cautious. Optics blinked in confusion, absorbing everything around him, driven by a subconscious resolve to sort out the details later. The land was barren, but not for long; on the far horizons, other figures could be seen, all gingerly swaying with the first steps of birth.
Slowly, by another instinct, the beings started to wander, searching for places to settle. As they explored the endless bounds of their new world, their mouths wrestled with the rudimentary elements of speech, in a language already known to them. Over time, they would give themselves names, and meet each other, and make plans, and go forth as the first beings of Cybertron.
All except the first. For reasons that eluded him, he could only watch as the others separated. His attempts to make contact failed; his words went unheard, his gestures were unseen, his touch was unfelt. Panic should have seized his mind, but he was too new to understand what panic was. Instead, he simply knew that he was ... different.
And by the time he learned why, it didn't matter.
Now that's me. Not much of a baby picture, I know. It doesn't matter. Since I can take any form I want, it's a moot point. Of course, since there's no "real" me at all, whatever form I take is also moot.
It was soon after that start when I met the boss, and he filled me in on what's happening. "Those children, they are my warriors," he said. "They will have to live and grow, then fight and die in the battle against Unicron. They must do this to save us from oblivion."
Hmmm. I almost wish I had created a multimedia rig for this, instead of just pen and paper. When I read back what he said, Primus sounds pretty stiff, and that's not the impression I want to give. You have to hear him to appreciate him; he talks in a way that makes the big words and flowery speeches sound ... well, natural. Maybe a sound recorder would have been better. Then again, maybe not. I think there's more to it than just a neat voice.
(Yeah, I said earlier that he talked to me only once. But it still impresses me, even after all this time. He's that good.)
Anyway, but I digress. He then said, "But you, the first, are different. You are the one behind the warriors, the one behind myself. Even my powers cannot foresee the best way to defeat Unicron. If my children fail -- if I fail -- you will be our final hope. For I give you the power to right my wrongs, and find salvation out of defeat."
So what is it that I do? Nothing much, really; just little things here and there. But it's enough.
On Cybertron, Eden never fell. The robots called themselves "transformers," after their ability to change forms. As one, they shared a metallic paradise for ten million years. While civilizations rose and fell on countless worlds, while Cybertron hurled itself through the cosmos, the Transformers lived in perpetual harmony. They occupied their time with research and recreation and culture, directing their attentions in socially constructive ways. Aggressive competitors became champion athletes, rapt thinkers ruled the sciences, and benevolent leaders watched over it all.
Then Unicron arrived.
The Chaos-Bringer had finally caught up to his foe, and began to destroy Cybertron. Though unaware of the reasons for the attack, the Transformers fought back with surprising speed. Industrial lasers were bolted onto shuttles and hastily thrust into battle. Hyperquantum power generators were set to overload, then hurled with magnetic launchers to explode against the enemy. Mining excavators were rolled to the front, tearing at Unicron wherever he stood.
It was all for naught. The Transformers were not warriors, and despite their brave efforts, fell like wheat before the scythe. The Cybertronian Council burst into full-blown panic when Stylax's suggestion to open the Matrix of Leadership was denounced as superstitious mysticism. A few managed to escape before Cybertron collapsed, but it was futile. Without the Guardian of the Light to stop him, Unicron would eventually destroy all of existence.
As the last shards of Cybertron were devoured by Unicron, the first child of Primus responded. Time twisted under his command; six million years reversed themselves, and the unseen warrior found himself back in the early years of Cybertron.
He found his target almost immediately. The subject was an imposing figure of steel and grey, whose hawklike visage clearly identified him as a being of ambition and drive. Before, such determination had carried him far, had led to an illustrious life in the world of athletics. This was why the unseen had selected him, because the fire of desire burned brightly within his soul.
The unseen struck, stoking the fire. Such a simple thing, really; merely raise his bounds of satisfaction and expand the dreams of glory. Domination in sports would now never be enough. Why settle for mere medals and empty praise when life had so much more to offer? In fact, why settle for such a stagnant lifestyle at all? Why should the Transformers remain content in their own little world, when an entire universe beckoned?
Because the Council opposed it, of course. Blind fools, all, but he could not ignore them outright. They would resist any attempts at change through the democratic process, making that a futile effort. A violent coup was also out of the question. A single mechanoid like himself stood no chance against the Guardian Robots of Cybertron.
What he needed was an army; a cadre of like-minded beings, willing to break the conventions of the world and forge a new future for their people. Together they could do what he alone could not, by building powerful weapons, and then taking arms against the establishment. The army would be small at first, but given enough time and ambition -- both of which he had plenty of -- he could cultivate a sizable force. One that would eventually be strong enough to seize control and guide Cybertron to a new destiny.
With a faint smile and a glimmer in his optics, Megatron began to work on the details of his dream. There was much to be done, but he was in no hurry; he had all of eternity.
Neat, huh? A little nudge there, and Megatron the star athlete becomes Megatron the conqueror. It's like that human poem, about how "for want of a nail, the shoe was lost." Some guy loses a nail for a horseshoe, one event affects the next, and eventually an entire kingdom falls down. That's what I do; I make nails disappear at the wrong time. Or the right time, depending on how you look at it.
Are you surprised that I know about Earth culture? Don't be. I know about every culture of every civilization that's ever existed. I can only influence Transformers -- and only a little -- but I can sneak peeks at everyone else. I guess it's a benefit Primus threw into my "package," so I wouldn't go crazy sitting around and doing nothing for millions of years at a stretch. Just like I can create small things, like the pen and paper I'm using to write these words. Glad he thought that I'd need some entertainment in the interim.
Anyway, I don't want to give the impression that I'm boasting, because I'm not. I'm certainly not clairvoyant. I might be able to change the past, but I don't know how to change it. Nudging Megatron seemed a good idea at the time; he had to give Cybertron a kick in the rear, push it out of lazy satisfaction and give everyone a taste of what it's like to fight. But the problem was, he was too good...
The dream was finally a reality, as Cybertron was united under the banner of the Decepticons. As Megatron watched from his aerie over Iacon, he beamed with unrestrained pride. The first interstellar warships of the Decepticon Colonists were almost finished. Soon, they would be launched throughout the universe, spreading the rule of the Transformers over all other beings.
And so they did. With surprising ease, the Empire rapidly grew, subjugating all they encountered. Megatron was not a cruel ruler; worlds who recognized the superiority of the Decepticons and accepted their place beneath were treated fairly. They were allowed to keep their own worlds, their own governments, their own cultures. So long as tribute was paid to their Decepticon superiors, all was well.
It was only the ignorant ones -- the ones who resisted, who fought, who couldn't see the futility of their effort -- who suffered. For them, the Decepticons offered no mercy and emotionlessly slew them all, until nothing remained but burnt corpses and blackened craters. There was nothing personal or vindictive about the process, but merely the terms of the contract. Submit and live, or resist and die.
Two million years A.D.C. (After Decepticon Conquest), a giant artifact was spotted in sector 42H/7. After a brief initial report, the contact team vanished without a trace. While Megatron and his cabinet plan their response, Unicron absorbed the memories of the dead crew, determined the location of Cybertron, then plotted a direct course.
He was intercepted six hundred thousand miles from Cybertron, but with little effect. Decepticon military technology might have been the most advanced in the universe, but except for some minor physical damage, Unicron remained unfazed. Effortlessly destroying the Decepticon forces, he tore into Cybertron with a vengeance. Hopelessly outclassed, Megatron fled the planet, even as he realized that reality was doomed. The Cybertronian Matrix of Leadership, long buried in a dusty crate in a warehouse filled with ancient relics, was one of countless items lost in the chaos.
Time twisted again.
Millions of years rolled back with impossible ease. The first Transformer looked around and quickly reoriented himself; he was in the waning days of Cybertron's Golden Age. At this time, the rebellion was just starting, and Megatron's raids were matched by his glowing speeches urging for "social uprising." While the Council denounced the Decepticons as misguided rebels, Megatron continued to elude capture, prompting some to seriously consider his words.
In the distance, an explosion rang out. There were screams and shouts, crossed with the sharp hiss of weapons fire. A few minutes later, a blue and orange robot staggered around a corner. Resting on one shoulder was the unconscious form of another, this one red and blue. Optics darting quickly from side to side, he lurched forward suddenly as he spotted a sign ahead.
"Fixer!" Orange shouted, then pounded on the rolling steel door with obvious urgency. Behind him, the invisible robot hovered, also waiting.
Eventually, a pulley whined sharply, raising the entrance. A slender robot, decked in violet and blue, stepped forward. He took in the two robots with a quick glance and sighed. "If your friend here needs help, I suggest you take him to the next city."
"What? No!" Orange gasped. "My friend, he's been shot!"
"So have you," the Fixer replied calmly. "But I can't do much for him." He gestured to the laboratory behind him. A collection of Cybertronians, in various degrees of damage, awaited his attentions. "They've been pouring in since morning. I can't fit another--"
"Please! Just take a look at him!"
With another sigh, Fixer nodded, helping Orange lower Red to the ground. As he began to study the badly-burned body, he asked, "What's your name? What happened?"
"I'm Dion, he's Orion," Orange explained. While he breathlessly described how Orion's fuel depot was attacked by the "new flying robots," the unseen warrior turned his attention to the Fixer's thoughts. Orion was near death already; even if he could be admitted to the repair bay immediately, conventional procedures offered only the slimmest odds for survival.
And yet ... in his spare time, the Fixer was working on a new procedure. One that could -- theoretically -- quickly rebuild Transformers into more durable forms. But it was still in the very early stages; Fixer needed more time to refine it further. To use it now, on a being close to death, was simply unethical.
Once again, it was such a simple nudge. Lower Fixer's doubts a little, and focus on his concerns over the growing Decepticon danger: These are drastic times that require drastic solutions. If this experiment works, Cybertron may gain a line of defenders against Megatron's forces. And as a builder and a healer, I had to try anything that could save him.
Fixer looked up into Dion's anxious face. Controlling the doubts he felt, he announced, "I'll tell you what; I'm going to attempt to rebuild him entirely. It's dangerous, but it's the only chance he has."
"Yes! Please, anything!"
"Very well." Fixer picked up the body, rose to his feet, and started to head into his workshop. He stopped for a moment and looked over his shoulder. "Was anyone else hurt in the attack?"
"Ariel! His girlfriend!" Dion blurted with renewed shock. "Should I--"
"Yes, and quickly. If my plans work, I'll try to save her too."
Dion nodded once and ran off. Fixer resumed his walk, reviewing the procedures he would need to rebuild Orion. Then, quickly, he chided himself; if his experiment succeeded, the robot would be Orion Pax no more. He'd have a new body, and deserved a new name to match his new form.
The words "Optimus Prime" drifted into his mind. As he toyed with the name, Alpha Trion entered his lab and began to work.
One thing that's always bothered me is that I've been incredibly inefficient. Remember that I only have one mission: to make whatever changes to history I could so that Unicron would be stopped. If I knew at the beginning everything I knew now, I could have probably gotten by with two nudges, at best.
But the problem was that I didn't know then what I knew now. Specifically, I only knew two things at the beginning:
(1) The collective life force of the universe could destroy Unicron.
(2) That life force could be channeled by the Cybertronian Matrix of Leadership.
Seems simple enough, at first. Get next to Unicron, point the Matrix at him, then bang -- end of story. Unfortunately, nobody told me about the hidden clauses. I'm still trying to decide if this was because Primus didn't know about them, either, or if he deliberately wanted me to struggle along like the rest of the Transformers. After all, I am technically one of them, and why should I get a free ride?
The war was over. It took over two million years, but the Autobots -- the defenders of Cybertron -- had won. The number of Decepticon recruits had stopped for years; between the war's hemorrhaging of Cybertron's energy resources and the Autobots' growing victories, there was little appeal and a lot of doubt for Megatron's philosophies. Indeed, when Megatron himself was finally captured, the number of Decepticons numbered less than a hundred.
After the war came the healing. The old ways were reinstated, and much hard work went into restoring the beauty and vitality of the planet. A daring plasma energy experiment proved successful at recharging the planetary core, and within a million years, the blissful utopia of Cybertron had returned in full bloom.
When Unicron arrived, the Transformers were prepared, armed with the weapons they developed during the war. Their defenses were antiquated but functional, impressive but impotent. But physical might meant nothing to the Chaos- Bringer, who was formed of forces beyond reckoning. Perhaps inevitably, Cybertron began to crumble under his assault.
As the pillars of the Great Hall toppled around him, Maximus Prime, leader of the Transformers, made a last, desperate bid for salvation. Cracking his chest open, he pulled out the Matrix of Leadership and pointed it skyward. Even while the ominous form of Unicron blotted out the heavens, he grasped the handles of the casing and pulled it open.
A beam of light burst forth from the Matrix. It was inescapably brilliant, indescribably white, bright enough to wash away all details, all lines, all divisions and distinctions. Like a thing alive, it arced upwards, striking Unicron in the center of his chest.
The Dark God staggered. Maximus Prime stared in absolute disbelief, amazed that the ancient superstitions surrounding the Matrix were real.
Then, suddenly, the light vanished, blotted by the demons of skepticism and doubt. Maximus Prime gaped at the Matrix, now a crystal of ruddy green, even as Unicron regained his composure. Maximus' efforts were too late. Faith had to be grown and cultivated; it could not be activated on demand.
Maximus never saw the blow which mashed him into the ground.
While Unicron tore into the lifeless shell of Cybertron, the first child reassessed this fate. This time, the Transformers were physically strong but spiritually weak. They had grown complacent after the Autobot-Decepticon War, convinced that their world was paradise and that nothing wrong would ever happen again.
He knew what he had to do. Yet even as he regretted it, time twisted.
Smoke and chaos and destruction swirled around. He was now on a space craft; specifically, the Ark, the greatest starship of the Autobots. Cybertron was heading into the path of an asteroid belt, and the Ark had been sent to clear a path for the planet. Unfortunately, the Decepticons chose that time to attack, and were now boarding the ship.
The unseen warrior gaped as the Autobot called Hound tumbled into him. Before he could dodge, the green boxy robot staggered through him, then bounced off a nearby instrument panel. Thundercracker, the Decepticon, leaped a moment later, passing through his incorporeal body to tackle Hound with a jarring crunch.
Regaining his composure, the unseen dashed across the Ark's bridge and headed for the navigation panel. While Autobots and Decepticons raged war, he scanned the controls, quickly found his target, then pressed the "deactivate" button.
A moment later, the Ark rumbled and quaked. Transformers from both factions fell to the ground as the ship -- deep in the heart of the asteroid belt -- was struck by a passing boulder. Another massive stone struck the hull an instant later, louder and harsher than the first. Among the chaos, someone shouted, "Deflectors are out!"
The battle was quickly forgotten as everyone scrambled for safety. There was none to be found; battered by the meteors, the Ark veered wildly out of control, throwing mechanoids against the walls and floor, sneering harshly at their attempts to regain control. Pinwheeling madly, the ship was caught in the gravity well of a nearby planet and plunged towards the ground.
It sliced through the atmosphere with incredible speed, and the roar of the wind deafened all on board. But even that was surpassed moments later by the monumental crash as the Ark plowed into the base of a mountain. Not that anyone had heard it: the stop was so sudden and so hard that everyone was jarred into complete disfunctionality. Not until four million years later would the Ark's crew be reawakened.
Back on Cybertron, all were presumed lost. The Autobots made an effort to search for survivors, only to be stopped by the Decepticons before their ship could even leave the ground. And by the time a third ship was available, the planet was too far away for a rescue attempt.
The war continued unabated while Cybertron continued its endless trip through space. Lacking the leadership of Optimus Prime and deeply demoralized by the loss of the Ark, the Autobots became a pale shadow of their former selves. They fought, but the fire was dampened; and over the course of the next four million years, the Decepticon Empire slowly grew.
See what I mean? When Maximus Prime opened the Matrix, I was SURE that Unicron was history. By the rules of the game (as I knew them), all of the conditions had been met, and all I needed to do was to wait for the finale. But nope, no luck, go to jail, do not pass go.
I will point out one thing, though -- the re-awakening of the Autobots and the Decepticons on the Ark wasn't accidental. After the Ark had crashed into the mountain, I had set one of the ship's power couplers for a slow buildup. Very slow, but I had figured that it would explode three million years later, giving the Ark's emergency systems a kick that'd wake everyone up.
Notice I said three million, not four. I think what happened was that the bedrock of the mountain somehow absorbed the heat from the buildup, turning it from a dormant volcano into an active one in the process. So instead of an explosion three million years later, I got an eruption four million years later. Oh well. Three million years would have been better, since the Decepticons only had around half of Cybertron then. If Prime and Megatron had returned then, I think they could have kept the war at a stalemate until Unicron finally showed up.
I had to keep the war going. As long as both sides were going at each other, nobody would be taking life (or anything else) for granted. That way, when Unicron came, the Autobots would be so desperate that they'd open the Matrix with complete faith and finish the game. Even if the Decepticons had managed to get the Matrix, it would have still worked, since they were also Primus' children. That's why Maximus Prime screwed up; when it was time to pull the trigger, a lack of faith turned the silver bullet into a pop cap.
No, I don't like death and destruction, okay? I am working for the Good Guy, Primus, after all. But I had to look at the big picture, which was getting rid of Unicron. If it means a few billion Transformers dying in the war, or a few gazillion beings dying by Unicron, I'll sacrifice the Transformers any day. I don't like it, but that's my job.
Unfortunately, even that didn't work out.
Ultra Magnus huffed steadily as he ran across the surface of the junk planet. The new Decepticons, Scourge, the Sweeps, Cyclonus, and Galvatron, were hot on his heels. Their lasers nicked the ground beneath him, and he expected a crippling blast in his back in any second.
No! Panic blossomed bright in his mind; Optimus Prime had died less than a day ago, and Magnus refused to fall so quickly. He had only one weapon remaining against his foes, and saw no choice left but to use it.
Dashing around a mountain of rubbish, Ultra Magnus spun to a stop, then willed his chest to open. With fast, graceless gestures, he pulled out the Matrix of Leadership, gripped it by the handles, and held it forward.
Galvatron and Cyclonus landed a moment later, no more than fifty meters away. "I want the Matrix, Magnus!" Galvatron ordered. "Hand it over!" His smile matched his tone: absolute arrogance, without any hint of remorse or doubt.
"Never! Back off, or I'll destroy you with it!"
Galvatron turned briefly to Cyclonus, and the two shared a quick chuckle. "Don't toy with me," he said again. "We know you won't dare." The two took a step forward, and Galvatron's arm reached forward.
"No!"
With a rough jerk, Ultra Magnus cracked the casing. The Matrix exploded brilliantly, sending forth bolts of whiteness with unerring accuracy. Faster than thought, they immediately struck the Decepticons, bathing Galvatron and Cyclonus and Scourge and the Sweeps in a hard, cleansing glare. There was a scream of surprise and shock, cut off an instant later as the Decepticons were vaporized.
While the last echoes of their cries rang in the air, Ultra Magnus closed the Matrix once again. With deep breaths of relief, he gingerly returned it to its home inside his chest.
Following events passed by quickly, commonplace compared to the majesty of the Matrix's power. Magnus gathered the other stranded Autobots without incident. Unusual sensor readings noted by Perceptor turned out to be a functional rocket buried beneath the surface of garbage. A few beings scurried in the shadows, but wisely stayed away and left the Autobots unmolested.
On the trip back to Cybertron, they made radio contact with Hot Rod and Kup and the Dinobots; they had crashed on another planet, then found a small friend called Wheelie who directed them to another derelict spaceship.
But the celebrations were cut short as they neared Cybertron. The monster planet (which, according to Kup and Hot Rod, was called "Unicron") had changed into a gigantic robot, and was already raking Cybertron's surface with claws a mile wide. Decepticon forces were engaging Unicron with no success; he swatted them away with bored ease, and the Autobots could not imagine faring any better in their third-hand ships.
Under Magnus' orders, Springer steered their ship for a close pass with Unicron. The titan spotted their approach and spewed flame in reply; Springer barely dodged the burst, but Hot Rod wasn't so lucky -- his ship was caught by the brunt of the blast, and sent to a spiraling crash on the far side of Cybertron.
Before Unicron could attack again, Ultra Magnus opened his chest and pulled out the Matrix. Over the protests of Arcee and Perceptor, he keyed open the ship's side door and leaped forward. There was an initial tumble in near- free-fall; then, regaining control, he pointed the Matrix at Unicron and opened the case.
Another bolt of brilliant white shot forth, striking Unicron directly in the center of his chest. But aside from a bemused, rumbling chuckle from the giant, nothing happened.
Shock and disbelief stunned the Autobot Leader even as Unicron plucked him out of the void of space. As Ultra Magnus gaped in amazement, the Chaos-Bringer smugly boasted, "Foolish one! By destroying my agents, you have enabled me to sample its power, and thus protect myself from it. You have squandered your one hope against me. Let that thought be your last as i cast you ... into oblivion."
To his credit, Magnus did not scream when he was devoured.
Time twisted once more.
The room was dim, almost absolutely dark, daring both Cybertronian optics and human eyes to distinguish any details. No sound disturbed the air, save for the slow, steady beeping of a lifesign monitor against the wall.
With a labored gasp, the mortally-wounded Optimus Prime opened his chest. He removed the Autobot Matrix of Leadership, then gingerly held it out on a teetering arm. Nearby, Ultra Magnus took a hesitant step forward, hesitant to reach for the delicate icon. Others in the room, Autobot and human alike, were paralyzed with nervous tension.
The unseen warrior gestured. In Optimus' mind, control faltered for an instant. His grip suddenly weakened. The Matrix fell.
Hot Rod reacted instantly. In one smooth motion, he dropped to a kneel, plucking the Matrix out of the air before it struck the ground. A small smile across his lips, he stood up and held it forth, admiring its shimmer in the darkness. Turning reverently, he handed it to Ultra Magnus, who placed it within his chest and assumed the mantle of Autobot Leader.
The first child of Primus showed no reaction when Optimus Prime died. For him, the important deed was done: the Matrix was keyed to Hot Rod now, and Ultra Magnus could not open it.
Reading back on what I've written, I realize that I have never mentioned my name. Maybe it's because I've been alone for so long that I don't think about it. After all, it's just "me," "myself," and "I," out here. I've never needed to use a name, so it's easy for me to forget about it.
The closest I ever came to a name was that one time when I talked to Primus (or he talked to me; I just sat there and listened, after all). Technically, I suppose I could be "the first," but it sounds lame -- it's more like the title for a band's album than a name. "The First Child of Primus" sounds even dumber, for obvious reasons.
I do have a name, of course. You can't live for fifty million years without thinking about it and giving yourself one. It took me a long time to choose one; I wanted a name that would accurately describe my part in the universe, that describes me perfectly, that describes what I do most.
Only problem is that the thing I do most is fight boredom. But "Boredom Fighter" is too pathetic, so forget that.
No, the name I picked was -- are you ready? -- "Time Warrior." Seems appropriate, because what I do the most is sit here in my nowhere land, fighting time while I wait to see if Unicron wins again. And if he does, I fight time again, twisting backwards to reach a critical moment to give it one of my magic nudges. Then waiting for another six to eight million years as I hope that it works out this time around.
Sorry about that last line. I'm not a punster, really...
The Final Battle was over. Incredibly, against all odds, Hot Rod had wielded the Matrix against the planet-eater called Unicron. Now remade as Rodimus Prime, he had then led the Autobots to free Cybertron from the grip of the Decepticons. With the Junkions and the humans as their allies, the Autobots began the slow process of rebuilding Cybertron.
But the peace was short-lived, for the Decepticon leader called Galvatron still functioned. Thrown by Rodimus from the final battle, he had hurled helplessly through space, until he eventually crashed on the planet Charr. But the impact did not kill him; forged by Unicron himself, Galvatron survived with only minor injuries. It was only a short matter of time before he found the surviving Decepticons and reformed them into a viable fighting force.
Months after the battle, Galvatron's reunited Decepticons attacked once again. Cybertron reeled from their coordinated assault, and Rodimus' inexperience hampered their counterattack. The Decepticons were eventually repelled, but with heavy losses to the Autobots.
Galvatron was not so easily thwarted. Still Unicron's pawn, he grudgingly recognized that he needed the help of his fallen master. Unicron's head had survived the Final Battle; it was a small effort for the Decepticons to take it back to Charr. From there, the Decepticons labored to reawaken Unicron and restore him to a new body.
They were successful. Given time and effort, Unicron regained his full powers and rewarded Galvatron's loyalty. He recast the surviving Decepticons into a new cadre of warriors, then rebuilt Galvatron with more power and strength than before.
Together, Galvatron and Unicron struck Cybertron, assaulting it on all sides with unimaginable fury. The planet fell too quickly; the Matrix could not stop Unicron, whose previous exposure to it had enabled him to raise wards against its power. Between Unicron, Galvatron, and thousands of Decepticons, the Autobots were massacred.
Even as Galvatron and Unicron reveled in their victory, time twisted.
Back to the Final Battle. Back deep into Unicron himself, where Galvatron wrestled with the newly-forged Rodimus Prime for control. The upper hand quickly went to Rodimus; freshly energized by the powers of the Matrix, his victory was all but assured. In the earlier timeline, it would be another second before he hurled Galvatron through Unicron's hull, to crash on Charr.
The Time Warrior struck. Rodimus froze for a moment. A second, nothing more. Yet even as Galvatron struggled against him, he could not break the Autobot's righteous grip.
Then, just as suddenly, the paralysis vanished. With uncanny ease, Rodimus lifted Galvatron high overhead, then hurled the Decepticon Leader across the chamber. Galvatron crashed through the steel wall as if it were rice paper, and he was flying through space an instant later, heading far from Cybertron.
As before, Galvatron's flight was stopped by a crash with the planet Charr. But things were different now, and in the moment of Rodimus' pause, Charr had moved. Galvatron landed two hundred and forty-six miles away from his original point; instead of smashing hard against the sandy desert, he splashed into a pool of molten magma.
The heat fried Galvatron's pain receptors, creating an endless torment which drove him mad. He was eventually found by the other Decepticons, but it was too late -- a ranting lunatic, he attacked Decepticons almost as often as he attacked the Autobots. This time, there were no coordinated strikes, no plans to revive Unicron, nothing but raw fury and uncontrolled direction.
Even so, there was a close call. Driven by curiosity, the Decepticon called Trojan traveled to Unicron's head. He was contacted by the Dark God himself, and forged a deal, a new body for Unicron in exchange for the return of Megatron. But Megatron's anger at Unicron surprised them all. He broke the pact, executed Galvatron, killed Trojan, and then destroyed the head, leaving no trace of the Chaos-Bringer.
And that brings us to the here-and-now. I'd like to think that this is the end of it, that with Megatron's destruction of the head, Unicron will stay dead, and there'll be no more need for me to do any time-twisting.
Unfortunately, I don't have that luxury. Unicron was a god, after all, and I don't know how gods work. And if Primus' behavior is any indication, a lot of times even gods don't know how gods work. Can Unicron come back from the dead? Is there a spirit that can be reincarnated? Since I don't know, the only thing I can do is assume he can, and be ready in case he does.
Though, to be honest, I'm not sure how much more I can do at all. My powers are certainly not limitless. Somehow, I just know that I can only time-twist a certain number of times.
I've changed reality five times already. Is that my limit? Or is it six? Seven? Ten? Twenty? What happens if I try to twist, but don't have the power to do so? Do I simply stay in the last reality? Do I end up somewhere I didn't intend to go? Or do I simply die?
Deep questions, sure. But I've been thinking about them for millions of years, and believe me, there's no point. There's no choice for me, except to wait and hope that Unicron stays dead. If he doesn't, do the twist. Either I make it or I won't, and fretting over the possibilities gets me nowhere.
The only other question I have left is what to do with you. I admit, this isn't the first autobiography I've written. But after six timelines and millions of years, there's nothing I haven't done several times before. Still, it beats sitting around twiddling my thumbs.
I guess I'll keep you around for a bit. Reading back what I wrote should keep me amused for a while. And then, when I get tired of this -- after a few hundred years, probably -- I'll simply wipe you back out of existence. Ashes to ashes, etcetera, etcetera.
I'm the Time Warrior, and I fight time. Usually with simple diversions and other little things...
THE END
For those who don't remember or don't know, "Time Warrior" was the Transformers watch you could get by sending in your robot points to Hasbro's S.T.A.R.S. program. While he wasn't an "official" Transformer per se (not in the sense of Jazz and Starscream et al), at least I got a story out of it...
Recent comments
2 weeks 2 days ago
2 weeks 2 days ago
2 weeks 3 days ago
7 weeks 2 days ago
7 weeks 3 days ago