Transformers Millenium

Discussion in 'Transformers Fan Fiction' started by Tacitron, Jan 16, 2009.

  1. Tacitron

    Tacitron An exceptional nut sack

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    Prologue:

    You've all heard the stories. Great Wars, devastation, death on a global scale, over and over again. I always thought it was a simplistic view to characterize the struggle as good vs. evil, when there were so many reasons for fighting that had nothing to do with either. That changed for me, finally, thousands of vorns after the wars had supposedly stopped forever.

    For the record, I was once a 'Con, although nobody uses the term anymore, and there are few left even to remember it. I'll tell you first how everything ended. The good guys won (of course), evil was smited, so thoroughly that it could never enter the universe again. The children of Cybertron finally contained the essence known in our galaxy as Unicron once and for all. The item would contain him, and all those who bore his taint, in the Prism. The binding of the Prism was irrevocable; body, mind and spirit were split and immobile. Unicron would not reform or escape to another universe. The Prism was undiscerning between Unicron and the other transformers who had been affected by his taint, i.e. the 'Cons.

    Those who had fought for good left the universe as well. That was the bargain. Unicron's evil could be restrained from corupting the physical realm, but all transformers had to leave behind their physical forms as well. They transcended, became beings of pure energy. They could still observe their former home, but never affect it directly.
     
  2. Tacitron

    Tacitron An exceptional nut sack

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    (cont.)

    Some of us, very few, didn't neatly fit into either category. Some, like myself, were ambivalent towards the cause we supposedly served. Others had served the good, but only imperfectly. We were left behind, ostensibly as guardians should the Prism ever fail. We were not to interfere with the other sentient species of this universe. We became known as the Sentinels by those few sentients who knew of our existence, the watchers at the gate. The Autobot Matrix was left with as a conduit to contact those who had passed beyond. They could guide us, but they would never return. They posted us on a remote station orbiting the binary star of Rigil Kentaurus. There we remained for a thousand cycles.

    What exactly we were supposed to do if evil ever did poke it's nose out of the Prism, the Elders never told us. Guess they figured we'd improvise.

    There were seven of us on the station. Charger Prime was our leader, of sorts. Although he held the Matrix and had given himself the title of 'Prime', all of us knew the Matrix hadn't selected him to be a leader, only a place holder.

    Next there was Eon, who claimed to be a veteran of the very first war. He would tell the story of how he lost his optic sensors from a direct blast from Megatron's fusion cannon aboard a shuttle headed for Autobot City on Terra. This we knew was a lie, since the shuttle's manifest and crew had been public knowledge, and all hands had perished in the Decepticon attack when the shuttle went down. One thing was true: his head module was a freakish slagging mess. Something had melted his optics and fused them with his central processor so that they could never be repaired without wiping his memory core. Sometimes, when we were bored enough, we'd ask Eon to repeat one of his stories that we hadn't heard yet for the billionth time.

    Bit and Vax were our technical crew. They had been assembled near the end of the last war and had seen little combat, though they had spent many cycles trying to clear away the wreckage of the past. They kept their own company, and although they could be friendly enough, it was always clear when you talked to them that they were just waiting for you to leave so they could resume their own conversation. It's like that with twins I've heard, split from the same spark. I've envied them more than once during my stay.

    Backfire and Torque were the 'warriors' of the group. Backfire was famous from the last war for somehow getting turned around in a battle and charging his own line. Took out three of his own before they could straighten him out. He spent the rest of his days on patrol duty after that. And Torque... well, let's just say he didn't need the excuse of getting confused to rack up kills due to 'friendly fire'. Everyone avoided Torque, and he returned the favor. I think having his spark in isolation at a maximum security lockdown cooled him down a bit, but none of wanted to test that theory.

    I let everyone call me Tracer. Not my original call sign, but it get's the job done. I had developed the ability over time, through tinkering and upgrades to my neural net, to interfere with other mechanical processing units. I'm told the effect is very similar to the hangover one gets from drinking too much igniter fluid. It gets so dull out here, some of the bots ask me to do it to them on purpose for a while. You get your thrills where you can, I guess.

    (Next: Chp 1, the Sentinels)
     
  3. Tacitron

    Tacitron An exceptional nut sack

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    Chp 1: The Sentinels

    We seven still aboard Sentinel station weren't the only ones who had been left after the Prism ended all our wars forever. There had been many others. But over time, they came to doubt the purpose of those who had left them in this purgatory. Some left to explore the vast reaches of space. Others wished to return to lifeless Cybertron, or other familiar haunts that had been our battlegrounds in the past. A few sought out to hide themselves among other sentients, hoping to find a place in a new culture not yet on the verge of extinction. Those who left held one thing in common - none had ever returned.

    You might wonder if life circling Rigil Kentarus was so bleak why we didn't all leave. I can only speak for myself on that matter. It was lack of faith. I had seen alien worlds, helped lay waste to more than a few of them and their peoples. I had spent many cycles marooned, attempting to assimilate with the local sentients. What I discovered is that I had a distaste for all of them. The universe hardly needed Cybertronians to be steeped in war. They would have wiped themselves out with or without our help. They were caught in the same maelstrom of the struggle for scarce resources that we ourselves were locked into. I'll say this for the Elders - they knew well enough to leave this plane to it's own devices.

    But none of that is relevant to my story. You must forgive my rambling. It is the product of a central processor dulled by monotony. I spent my time revolving about a binary star in the cold depths of space believing that nothing would ever happen, that at this point nothing could happen, and that my circuits would slowly wind down as galaxies expanded until they disolved into nothingness.

    I was wrong.
     
  4. Tacitron

    Tacitron An exceptional nut sack

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    (Cont)

    Our end of the trouble all started when I decided to get creative. I've been around for countless vorns, but every now and then I do things that ought to get me deactivated. I wouldn't have survived if it wasn't for a little contingency plan I always keep in place.... Anyway, I was on watch in the main tower, watching data packets decode from countless systems around the universe, when it occurred to me that I had never used my ability to disorient NOMAD.

    NOMAD was short for Nullwave Omnidirectional Magnetic Anomaly Detection. It was the hardware that ran the automated parts of our station. Hell, it WAS the station. It had no spark, no personality component, and it relied on us for any independent decision making. It had no memory, either. For that we had Vax. All reports, once received and decrypted, were downloaded to Vax. What he did with the data afterwards was anyone's guess.

    So there I was, alone in the tower, wondering what the effect would be if I got NOMAD drunk. Was he too large to even be affected? Would he alter the artificial gravity and dump us all into space? Would he start reprogramming probe droids to attack the nimrod operator up in the tower? Once the seed was planted in my processor, I had to know. I gave him a little jolt....

    Nothing happened. Readings and charts flew across the monitor banks without so much as a ripple. Not a suprise. If NOMAD had a tolerance for high energon fluxes, it would have to equal a batallion of Cybertronians. I upped the dose, and gave it all I had for a split second....

    Still nothing. At least nothing I could see. No red lights, no alarms sounding. Business as usual. I should have realized the station was far too large for any noticable effect, although I couldn't help feeling the bruising of my ego. It wasn't till later when I got the call from Vax that I realized what I had done.

    His call came in the midst of a stasis nap, where I dreamed of a thousand copies of myself, all dining on an endless field of energon cubes.

    "What are you doing in there," said Vax, his optics narrowed in obvious annoyance. I could see Bit next to him on the com screen.

    "I was enjoying the silence."

    "Were there any anomalies detected during your shift?"

    That brought me fully awake. "No, I didn't see anything. Have you found something?"

    "It's the latest internal diagnostic. All data from the last 20 reports shows probes being launched like clockwork, all systems nominal. Except that according to todays report, we haven't launched a probe in over a cycle."

    There was no way they could pin this on me, I thought. Whatever had happened, I could put it down to deterioration of NOMAD's circuits. This place was old, hell, I was old. What could they do me even if they did know?

    "Tracer?! Are you there?"

    "I'm, ah, here. Have you checked the assembly plant to double check the numbers there?"

    "That's where I'm calling from, Tracer. The whole bay is completely empty."

    (next, Chp 2: Disappearance)
     
  5. Tacitron

    Tacitron An exceptional nut sack

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    Disappearance

    I hurried as quickly as I could to the assembly bay. Early on at the station I had reformatted my alt mode to match that of the nav sat probes we were supposed to be launching. It was very useful for interstellar insertions. Not so useful for narrow corridors aboard a massive space station. When I arrived at the bay, Vax was interfacing with NOMAD to see what had happened to our records - and all our equipment. His brother, Bit, stood next to him, looking nervous enough to gnaw one of his own actuators off.

    "It's very bad, to say the least," said Vax, never pausing or turning around to see me. No one had ever successfully calculated Vax's processing speed or memory. Let's just say you wouldn't ever want to play him at a game of terran chess.

    "Have you located where the assembly equipment went?"

    "Currently, that's the least of our problems. I've been trying to access diagnostics, security feeds, pretty much anything, but at the moment NOMAD's actively resisting me. I can't access any of his subsystems."

    I let that sink in for a moment. "That's impossible. NOMAD wasn't programmed to repell electronic attacks, let alone your downloads. What the slag pits would it need to when no one even knows we're here?"

    "He's been modified. And that's not all. I think he may be sentient."

    That one threw my processor's into a loop, and for a moment I felt a little dizzy myself. It had happened in the past that sparkless machines spontaneously developed self-awareness. Even programs with a limited degree for self-learning had evolved to eventual awareness. I heard Omega Supreme started out as just another sentinel unit. No one knew exactly how it happened. But it hadn't happened for, slag, thousands of vorns.

    "Vax, what makes you think NOMAD is aware?"

    "I've tried every means available to hack into his net. Every time I break through a firewall, he's constructed a new one. Not only that, but he's anticipated my moves on several tries. He's not only aware, but he seems to have a lock on my code breaking routines. I was about to have Bit activate the infiltration protocol."

    That at least made sense to me. If NOMAD had somehow been compromised, we needed to shut him down, fast.

    "Tracer, go with Bit to the main generators. I'm going to find Charger and give him a sit-rep."

    "What's Bit need a backup for? It's not like NOMAD has physical defenses."

    "He didn't used to have electronic defenses, either. Just stay alert, and contact me when you've made it to the generators. Charger's going to love to hear about this."
     
  6. Tacitron

    Tacitron An exceptional nut sack

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    Chp 3: Rising fear

    As I made my way to the generators with Bit, I told myself over and over this couldn't possibly be my fault. And this was the first time (and last time, I promised myself) that I had messed with NOMAD. Whatever I did couldn't have made him sentient, and it sure as slag couldn't have emptied out the entire probe assembly bay during my little stasis nap. But if mine hadn't been the jolt that made him aware, what had?

    "It's bad luck," said Bit, jarring me from my reverie. He always spoke very rapidly (he and his brother both processed things significantly faster than the rest of us). Others on the station had trouble understanding him, but I always understood him well enough. Even though Bit was a slagging genius, once you realized he had the spark of a child, it was easy enough to see where he was coming from.

    "What's bad luck, Bit."

    "Vax and me being apart. Bad luck."

    "Not as bad a luck as losing a whole mech bay while you were the one on watch, I'll wager."

    Not that I could let him know, but I knew exactly how he felt. Essentially they were two separate beings, but Bit still shared part of a spark with Vax. It's not a comfortable feeling have two or more sets of data streaming through you at the same time.

    "You're right about that," said Bit. At least I got a smile out of him. "Charger's going to launch into the heart of Sol when he finds out about this."

    The humming and vibrations of the generators intensified as we drew close. I had a momentary twinge... but I put it down to guilt over the stupid stunt I'd pulled. I should've known better than to ignore my instincts, but I'd been idle for over a thousand cycles by that point. And, as I've said before, every so often I do things that ought to get me scrapped. Today was proving to be an exceptionally bad day in that regard.

    As we round a corner, the door to the generator bays slammed shut in front of us. We heard the magnetic seals engage. It was then I noticed a sound that hadn't registered before - metal scraping against the metal walls and floors of the station's corridors behind us. I disengaged my safety protocols and drew out my armament - a D87 Submachine gun, low caliber rounds.

    To be honest with you, I wasn't built for combat. I've got armor like tissue paper, and my pop gun was mainly built for strafing organics. Oh, not to mention that I'm fairly slow, by mechanized standards. Shrapnel once told me my earth mode should rightly have been a mechanical chicken. I was in trouble against anything big, and from the sounds approaching us something big was on the menu.

    I knew Bit wasn't much better off. He had already drawn his ray gun which he called "the Zapper". We tried quickly to double back and take a different route to command - slag infiltration protocol, we couldn't deactivate NOMAD if we got scrapped ourselves. That's when our stalker came into view.

    It walked on four legs, with two rather large hooked appendages for arms. It looked very much like a mechanized mantis out of a bot's nightmare. It looked like a mismash of spare parts, and I suddenly began to wonder how many of these things could have been constructed in the last cycle....

    "I've waited a long time for this opportunity," said the thing. It's voice sounded strange, like a poorly made vocal modulator sending feedback into itself. "I am Ripper, and I'll be adding to myself whatever meager parts I can scrounge from your remains... after I've had a little fun first, of course."
     

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