Title: Eden Log 1/3
Warnings: implied death of unnamed OCs
Continuity: G1 [part of the Dysfunction AU], pre-war
Characters: Blast Off, OCs
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Sadly, nothing is mine.
Summary: Unfortunate events led to a hasty decision which is now revealed to all shuttleformers.
Beta: ultharkitty
It should have been a historical event. It should have been a new beginning on another world.
But it had been a disaster.
They didn't find any survivors, only dead metal floating in space.
A single intact memory bank could be retrieved. It didn't contain images, only sound; it was only partially complete.
An argument about unexpected turbulence, defiance, and a fight about different correct decisions.
It ended with the death of everyone, and resulted in a hasty conclusion - a conviction of an entire Cybertronian subgroup.
…because someone needed to be blamed.
"Good morning," the mech in front of Blast Off said, handing him a datapad.
Blast Off nodded and took the pad. He entered the big hall wordlessly; he didn't feel like talking, and he didn't feel like it was a good morning either.
It was just a joor ago, maybe a joor and a half, when he had arrived at the Altihex Deep Space Research Facility. It had felt good to be back, and he had wanted to recharge in his room - recharge and relax until his next mission began.
Unfortunately, his plan was interrupted by a meeting notification from his room's computer. A message which, apparently, every shuttleformer had received.
The hall was crowded. Not only with shuttleformers who worked at this facility, but also builds from Praxus and Iacon. Blast Off could recognise them because of their different frames which had been constructed for different purposes. Many of them were only supposed to fly short distances - short in space-going terms.
He sighed tiredly, and was just about to look at the datapad when a familiar voice shouted his name.
"Hey, Blast Off!"
The shuttle winced, and now his sigh sounded annoyed. He glanced up, and saw a group of shuttleformers standing nearby. There were three of his own build and series, and three others: space cruisers, probably from Iacon and built for passenger transportation to Cybertron's moons and space stations. This series was pretty young, not even a vorn old. A condescending expression rushed over his faceplates.
"Blast Off, we're over here!" the voice shouted anew. Blast Off huffed; Lunar Pulse, of course, who always tried to make him socialise.
He yielded to the situation and crossed the distance. Stepping beside his green and beige batch mate, he joined the group he didn't want to be part off right now, and didn't greet anyone.
"This is Blast Off. He just came back from a mission," Lunar Pulse explained to the space cruisers - one of them was a femme. Blast Off only realised it when the slightly different energy field frequency brushed his own field.
"Oh," she said, "did you hear what happened to the Eden mission when you were in outer space?"
Blast Off frowned and shot her a look. "No, I haven't, because I do not have communication equipment." His voice was sharp and sarcasm rang deep in it.
The femme winced and shifted on her feet. He just shook his head in annoyance, and mused if it might have been less irritating if he had tried to ignore Lunar Pulse and the group.
The said green shuttle laughed quietly, and the group continued their former conversation in which Blast Off did not participate. He turned his attention to the datapad, because even if he knew what had happened to the mission and the shuttleformer - who had been his superior once - he didn't truly know what this meeting was about. But it had to be important if shuttles from all the central locations were there.
To Blast Off's surprise, the datapad was deactivated. He frowned. The content had to be unlocked first; he didn't have a good feeling about that.
"What do you think about it?" his batch mate asked, and it took Blast Off a moment to realise that he was being addressed and what was meant.
He shrugged, not looking up. "I think it means bad news."
There wasn't a reply, because at that moment the light dimmed and one of the officials stepped on the stage. A big screen at his back showed the topic of the meeting: Information Event About Measures Taken and Consequences Of TheEdenMission.
Blast Off frowned. This definitely meant bad news.
The mech on the stage cleared his vocaliser and a staticky cough was the first sound to echo through the hall before he began to speak.
"Welcome. Thank you all for coming…" And so it began. With elocution and euphemism, the mech in front of them explained the situation. He showed disturbing pictures of the wrecks and metal pieces floating in space, the remains from Eden, and a murmur sounded through the room.
The shuttleformers next to Blast Off shifted; one of them rubbed his upper arm and shuddered, another one looked awkwardly at his feet.
Blast Off just stood there. Looking at the pictures, thinking about what might have happened, it still wasn't as bad as a few things he had seen in space. At least it looked as though all the mechs had died quickly.
The official mentioned a retrieved memory bank and a sound file, but they didn't play it. Apparently it was too "upsetting". Blast Of guessed that it wouldn't emphasise the meeting's purpose, and so they had decided to keep it hidden.
Then, they unlocked the content of the datapads, and dropped the bombshell.
"Because of this unfortunate event, we - the Deep Space Research Facility and the subsidises Institutions for Space Related Transports of People and Cargo - decided to reduce the risk for mechs and femmes which are not build for space conditions by establishing a new program. This program will be installed to all shuttleformers working for said institutions and will guarantee trouble-free cooperation between the missions' commander and the shuttleformer."
Blast Off tensed. He didn't have anything against getting updates, or physical upgrades, even if he didn't like the poking and prodding of scientists and engineers, but translating the euphemisms, the program meant nothing else but forced obedience.
It seemed it wasn't just himself coming to this conclusion when another, louder murmur went through the hall.
Mechs and femmes gestured or stood frozen, looking surprised and irritated, and even Blast Off clenched his fist.
He glanced around, and for the first time, he noticed the security guards at the hall's entrance and at the stairs to the stage. There were more guards than usual, and they showed their weapons openly.
Blast Off's engine revved to a growl, and he didn't pay attention to the looks he gained from the group standing next to him.
Annoyed, and discontented, he finally skimmed through the datapad, where the mechanisms of the program were explained, while the official mech still tried to de-emphasise the facts.
After the first few pages, Blast Off's already-negative expectations were surpassed. The new update would enable the possibility of totally deactivating a shuttle's consciousness, forcing them into a state of coma and triggering a complete loss of control over their body.
Blast Off's tanks lurched.
"Wow," the unimpressed voice of Lunar Pulse rang to him, and he glanced up. The other met his optics with his own. "They're really serious about this…"
"They can't do this to us!" It was a femme, a different one than before, another space cruiser, and if Blast Off hadn't been so shocked, he would have wondered if every space cruiser of this series were femmes. As it was, he didn't care.
There were more complains from other mechs in the group, and a few other farther away shouted at the mech at the stage. Security didn't intervene just yet.
Blast Off kept quiet. He didn't like it at all, but he also didn't see a point in complaining or whining or arguing. They hadn't left him many options.
"What do they think they're doing?" another shuttle grumbled.
"Yeah, they're insane! Why are they doing this anyway? Because of one space incident? As if this had been the first one!" another femme said, and Blast Off huffed quietly.
"Hey, Blast Off?" Lunar Pulse looked at him again, and he tried to ignore it. "You wanna say something, right?"
One more growl of his engine. He hated it when the other did that. Sure, he could say lots of things about their mutual disagreement with the program and how degrading it was, but since there was no use in complaining, the words weren't worth it.
"Ah, c'mon." More verbal poking from Lunar Pulse, and the others looked at him expectantly.
Blast Off gave in and huffed annoyed. "Why they do this now when other accidents happened before Eden? Because this catastrophe was in the media, because ordinary people don't have any notion about the conditions and dangers of space, and because it's always easier to blame a minority - no matter its status - and make them pay for other's mistakes. It's the easiest way to pacify the public."
After this, the group fell silent.
Blast Off gave them a condescending look, and muttered. "Use your processors before you ask such stupid, unnecessary questions."
He didn't notice Lunar Pulse grinning for the slightest of moments as his attention was drawn back to the stage where another mech was asking for silence.
Slowly, the murmur ebbed, and the mech who was speaking before could be heard. He said another few unhelpful things, before he gave them the opportunity to ask questions about the measures.
Lunar Pulse was the first who raised his arm. "Hey, here. I have one. What happens if I refuse to get the update?"
Again, voices rose, muttering agreement, and the official answered in a matter-of-fact way.
"The institutions have signed an agreement that we will only employ shuttles who have installed this program. Further, we decided that every new series will be built with this code from the beginning."
Lunar Pulse frowned. "So, that means, if I don't get this update, I'm fired?"
"Well, if you don't want to get this program installed - we, the cooperating institutes - can't employ you any longer, so… yes."
Blast Off grimaced, and without his conscious intent, he said aloud, "You're blackmailing us."
The room fell silent once more, and optics looked at Blast Off as he tensed.
There was no reply, and the official just turned to another mech with a new question, pretending not to have heard Blast Off's words.
All the answers were spoken with nice, harmless words, but there was no point in the euphemisms. It was a program which limited a mech's freedom. A program which could trap a mech's mind in his own body, turning him into an insentient drone.
The rest of the time, those responsible tried to justify their decision.
Blast Off sighed and stopped listening.