A/N: I changed the summary to something more entertaining and boom! Two reviews by the time I wake up in the morning, which is pretty awesome since I am such a sucker for reviews.
Anyways, a few random facts about my story: Earthen triple changers are all notoriously shy, opposed to the usual type of violent, batshit crazy. Brian, Fia's youngest cousin is the largest MILITARY frame. I dunno how that word disappeared from my text when I uploaded it. Generally, Flier Military frames, if not hellicopters, translate into Seeker frames and no, they arent more claustrophobic than the average person. On occasion, the Earthen military fliers also refer to themselves as seekers, but that term has different connotations than the cybertronian term. When I envisioned the Vestige Fleet, my mind produced Romulan ships from Star Trek, particularly the Mirror Ha'apax Advanced Warbird for the Valkyrie Transcended, which is my ship of choice in the Star Trek Online that I occasionaly indulge in. I try not to describe the ships on purpose. USA managed to find and retrofit the majority of the Xarynthian ships. The Russians, however, will be the first to produce the first Earthen space worthy ships. The first Earthen Dreadnought is called Catherine the Great.
If I think of anything else I would add it in other author notes.
[April 30th, year 2032, aboard the Valkyrie Transcended, Dawnbreaker's PoV]
Something's up but I can't put my finger on it. Usually, when aboard a ship of any kind, finding solitary time is a big problem. The Valkyrie's big, but our crew numbers around near three hundred people, the bare minimum required to smoothly run the ship. Even as a Mechanoid of my size, I had still been capable of walking down the various halls of my ship with barely a soul passing me by on the rare occasion. Now, I can't even fall into recharge without feeling watched and I am getting pissed off. Sure, I have been a ridiculous nuinsance over the last few weeks, but that does not warrant ... well, this.
Anyways, I've been trying to subtly notice what exactly is going on. I can't really snoop or anything, because as a commander I have to be the very essence of confidence and I have to take everything in stride and show my crew how the cool kids do it. And that takes legitimate effort since being serious and stoic was not my schtik at all. Also, as part of my so called propaganda, there are people, even aboard my ship, that actually work on presenting me in the best possible light, like my very own P.R. Agents, which, come to think of it, is as ridiculous as it sounds, but quite necessary. According to almost all of my friends I can be a right ornery and obnoxcious bitch. And they are probably right, considering I was stubborn enough to kill off a civilization whose supreme consciousness was trying to subjugate me or something.
So, yeah. I have my very own PR campaign going even on board my ship because being legendary and brilliant could get you only so far. My speeches are rewritten at least five times before they get the A-okay to be unleashed upon the masses, especially because I tend to ramble and am generally uncouth when in a mood. It also took me years to build up a proper mind to mouth/fist barrier. After spending ten years of being a glorified software all I had to do to make something happen was to think of it. As such, many people got randomly punched by me for being a) annoying and b) little bitches. There was also option c) when I'd find punching someone funny on principle. And before you even ask, yes, I have been dealing with Hannah for many, many years, which is partly why I still manage to work with people. I've worked on building up my patience because everybody seemed so slow and took so much time compared to myself. So whenever I get randomly violent, there was also exasperation with the retardation surrounding me, which had been another direct result of being a living consciousness within a super computer.
To some degree I am still connected to the Valkyrie as I've managed to access some of her systems while attempting to meditate. Keyword attempting. I can't sit still for the life of me and I am too restless and uncomfortable, sitting cross-legged on the ground like an idiot. I just can't relax enough to really reach that calm state or whatever I am to reach while meditating. Which, by the way, is the whole point of meditating.
A thing about us flying military types and generally all mechanoids is that we have a very well developed and complicated bio-electromagnetic fields. Humans have those too, but theirs is tiny in comparison to the range even newborn mechas have. Flier military frames are particularly sensitive with probably the biggest range of said BEM field and as such we are able to discern if somebody is brushing by or within our BEM fields from very far distances. In comparison with, say, shuttles, hellicopters or the grounders, they can figure out they've come by someone's BEM field but they can't really figure out our location unless they can see us.
Occasionally, this type of mechanoids are referred to as Seekers, though the term hasn't really caught on yet, as accurate as it is.
Yes, I am a seeker, seeing as I am a flier military frame, if an unusual, spaceworthy one. My alt is some sort of non-Xarynthian spaceship with enough internal space for several small cabins and a cargo bay big enough to fit MJ in her alt in it. Basically I am the size of a light cruiser, if a bit smaller, but more heavily armored and with a lot of fire power. Like, a lot.
Anyways, my point is I can't focus on meditating because the mecha portion of my ship would buzz about my consciousness like a bunch of really annoying mosquitoes. There is always the option where I squeeze my BEM field really, really tight and close against my frame, but then I feel blind in that respect and even more paranoid than I was to begin with. There is also the fact that according to the meager mecha numbers in my crew, my BEM field tends to be oppressive and unbearable at times. So there we go, more paranoia, more things to feel insecure about and, to top it all off people are personally following me everywhere and if I go to my Captain's quarters, then a friend of mine would immediately come over to "see how I was" or "to chat".
Well, I may have been blonde, but I aint and never will be stupid. So maybe this would explain why I walk into the Valkyrie's command center and plop into the captain's chair like a thunderous cloud full of dark promises... and all three Mecha officers scurry out of my sight. It may classify as an abuse of power but I haven't felt this satisfied in months and to top it all off I can't be held accountable all the time to keep my BEM field to myself.
I am in an over all shitty mood. Every single time I tried to talk to MJ or my grandfather about resuming my post they somehow end up subtly changing the subject and while I am smart enough to recognize people doing that I am hardly as eloquent or as silver-tongued enough to get things going with words alone. My subterfuge lies in a very different direction. I keep attention to small details, I recognize when people lie and I can detect hidden motives behind seemingly innocent premises. I know when to physically nudge just that one small detail, that proverbial straw that can break the camel's back. That's what I am good at. Throw me in a viper's nest of politicians and elegant power plays and you see me either fall flat on my face or start throwing punches. Unfortunately the things that make a person one hell of a scheming and dastardly politician also make up the foundations of a good, successful diplomat.
Soon enough I see Helen of Troy, in all her pale pearlescent glory, walk into my command centre. She is all gentle smiles, elegance and poise and even though I could feel physically the strain my overbearing presence causes her, her posture never wavers, her armor plates are relaxed and her step is light. With but a few words and a few simple gestures she manages to calm me down without making me feel like the petulant child I know I am at times or as if I've been reprimanded.
Helen of Troy, as we called her. Helen Woodsworth as she was otherwise known. Gentle, fragile, lithe akin to a Tolkien elf and at the same time, steadfast and strong in the face of anything. If there was one thing the war and Simon's death brought about in her, it was her immeasurable inner strength and her resolve to be the gentle caress and the pillar of support we all needed in the dark times that had been upon us. Her presence was charismatic, enchanting, soothing and gentle like a lulaby. It was an oddly fitting comparison to say that where I was a terrible and vicious dragon, MJ was the knight and Helen was the princess. With the three of us, along with my Grandfather's tireless efforts and the combined hard work of many others, I was able to sit upon my proverbial golden throne and awe the masses with the things that made me the stuff of legends – brilliant white and gold armor, the mechanical wings of an angel that possessed the entire set of turbines powering my alt mode. At one side I had my gleaming shield and at the other – my sword.
Barring the obviously religious visage of Archangel Michael that I represented, my very existence, the fact I had transcended death itself to protect humanity and Earth and that I had returned victorious and resplendent to once again serve the masses... As glorious as my story sounded, at least the one that was spread to the common folk, and as terrible and horrifying the truth was... I have realized on more than one occasion that it is a crushing reality that I live in and I have to cope every day with that fact, in small ways, with little habbits and rituals that spawned over the course of time to help me overcome my guilt, my shame and my regret. The people needed me to be the beacon of light to shine upon the bright and wonderful future that was ahead of humanity. People needed me to show my compassion, my wonder and my unwavering belief in humanity. And while I had a lot of grief that I was free to express because people could relate with it, it was the one thing I was unable to force forward, no matter how much I, myself, needed it. With each passing year I grew more cynical and disillusioned of this new life I had for myself. With each year I grew more violent and vicious. Perhaps I seemed uncaring. Perhaps madness had finally claimed the last vestiges of whatever sanity I had left.
Grief and the weight of my actions, good and bad, were eating me from the inside out. I was anxiously waiting for a judgement that would never come because to the people I was not a person, but an icon. A legend.
I don't give interviews to mecha reporters. When they are close enough, for long enough periods of time, they would be able sense my BEM field clear enough to understand that something is fundamentally wrong. Luckily, there aren't any actual mecha reporters with enough connections or popular enough to net an interview with me. I have no idea how long that luck of mine will hold out. Eventually someone will pop up and open my bag of cats. Eventually, I will crumble from the stress of it all when that happens, I don't want to think about the consequences.
Was this what the great leaders of old had to face? Had Alexander the Great dealt with dillemas such as my own? Did Cleopatra stir restlessly at night, fearing for what her decisions would bring to Egypt? All these questions are moot now, seeing as I can't get the answers I want from the source. All I can do is speculate, plan and plot. And I plot and plot, I move all the pieces on the chess board within my mind and I watch as hypothetical situations evolve before my mind's eye. The problems and solutions come to me before long and the process is repeated until all possible scenarios have been picked at meticulously. My powerful internal processor provides the number cruching needed, the percentages that supply my decisions with the factual support. The end result, a solid decision on a matter, is presented after I consult myself with my gut feeling. I listen to that thing. It has kept me alive far longer than if I had to have relied solely on my tactical mind alone.
Sometimes, not often, but occasionally enough, I forget about my problems and just enjoy being with my friends. Other times, when Gravity and I beat the shit out of each other, I feel oddly at peace with myself. Content. Beaten the scrap out of and tired as hell, but content. In these occasions I find myself happy enough to realize that, despite everything, what I am doing now and what I had done to this point has been worth it. I see my friends and family and I see them happy. I see them raising children, making a life for themselves in this strange new Earth we are all creating together. I see the little people mulling about in their everyday lives and I think to myself how lucky we all are to still have this. To still have our lives and freedoms.
[April 30th, year 2032, aboard the Valkyre Transcended, Captain's Quarters]
"Michelle has a clouter of housecats in her quarters, Harrison has a most exquisite collection of delightful little song birds, Charlotte has a vibrant, huge aquarium full of tropical fish."
"And I have turned half of my room into a petting zoo for a flock of Carribean flamingos of the most deliciously vibrant vermillion color to feast your eyes upon."
"Indeed, my friend." Helen popped a small oil based treat into her mouth and savored the crunchiness that spilled into deliciously sweet gooey goodness, quite akin to chocolate in taste. "Say, Fiona, what has had you in such a mood this fine morning?"
"You mean other than the usual, Helen?"
Fiona exhaled and pulled away from the ledge that separated her room from the area, designated to her pet flamingos. She went over to her bed and carefully lied down on her back, hands spread and eyes peering at the well lit ceiling. Helen's small form still stood by the ledge, watching as the flamingos were foraging the waters for food. She was quietly waiting for a response.
"Grandfather and MJ and infact everybody else has been beating around the bush lately. Your sister is still keeping me off duty for whatever perceivable reason. And you know exactly what I am talking about because my entire command is actively working on this. Whatever all of this is. I have no idea what I've done to warrant such special treatment but I won't be having any of it soon enough. Furthermore, tell my subordinates and whoever else is in on this ridiculous plot that I've had it with this bullshit and that I've allowed this to continue for long enough because you are family. As the Commander of this fleet and as the highest ranking military it is my duty to ensure the crew's complete subordination during the entire length of this mission, as botched up as it is to begin with. I won't be nice, Helen, and the results won't be nice either."
[April 30th, year 2032, aboard The Great Expectations, Lt Gen Duskfire's Captain's Office]
"So she has finally put her foot down." Lt Gen John Sr. lamented, his dark wings tense and held low and close to his body. His massive form was dark navy blue with wide, powerful shoulders and imposing armor covering his imposing physique. Familiar azure blue eyes upon a pale slate gray face and that same golden crown adorned upon a familiarly shaped helm with the exact same blade shaped audial fins that lacked, however, the expressiveness that was characteristic for Dawnbreaker's fins. The familial likeness was visible from afar and Fiona's cousins possessed more or less similar features. Fiona's frame, however, always seemed somewhat more. It was more armored, more powerful, more complicated. Her exquisite golden wings were a thing of beauty that she rarely displayed in their spread out glory. Helen felt regretful that Dawnbreaker preferred the comfort of having the wingplates aranged around her hips akin to a skirt of sorts rather than endure the absolutely resplendant display they could be. She as a whole was resplendent. But she was also so, so very tired.
"No." Helen replied, as she turned her thoughtful gaze toward these familiar glowing azure orbs. "She is simply reminding us that she can put her foot down. And if that happens, it doesn't matter if she is dangerous to herself and others. The people would follow her anyways and we'd have unnecessary mutiny on our hands."
"We have chosen our poison well, it seems." Duskfire chuckled humorlessly." We always fight the monsters of our own make, Helen. Never forget that. And this time Fiona's monster is lurking in the darkness and we can't allow for her to see it. It would kill her this time for certain." The last part was barely above a broken whisper, terrified that his greatest fears would come thre.
"We have very little choice in what we must do." Helen said softly." Fia has given us an ultimatum and we must respond to it."
"And so this farce comes to an end at last, yet relief is not what I feel. Perhaps relief will come later, when our fleet has finally docked within sight of our Earth. You know, Helen, I've lost all four of my children to the war. My youngest, Jasper, never did manage to settle down and create a family of his own. His death hurt me the most, Helen. He was a vibrant and mischievous soul, free as a bird and as brilliant as my granddaughter. He had a long term relationship with a woman called Lilly-Anne but he was never quite ready to settle down with her. I have no idea what has become of that woman. I've looked for her and yet I've never managed to find her. All I have left of my youngest son is memories, Helen, and nothing else. My only granddaughter reminds me so much of him that it hurts at times to look at her. And, in others, when I see her face it is not the battle-ready warrior queen, but my small little six year old princess that slipped on the floor, chipped her tooth and proudly gave me that little piece, her face all grins and dimples. I can't lose anyone else, Helen. I can't lose her. I won't take it."
"Our Golden Queen shall restore her sovereignity and all will be well once more, in our little kingdom amidst the Great Void." the lady Woodsworth whispered softly as she slipped into his lap and kissed him.
The kiss quickly grew from soft and gentle to hot and desperate. It was an unlikely liason born from mutual loneliness. It was a liason of stolen moments of passion, veiled in secrecy.