Sorry it took so long to update but I finally finished the original story I was working on. I finally found an idea for the last life; enjoy. Reviews are appreciated.
I do not own Transformers; I only play with the characters and wish I did.
Life without Decepticons-Not.
It was a bittersweet moment when Sam saw Earth from space for the first time. This blue and white pebble hanging in space was home. It was the birthplace of his race. It was also, at this time, the prison of most of his species and he was going there to die.
Even while he was with the Autobots, he knew that someday he would go to the shard and it would pull the power from him. In the best case, he would simply start to age the way humans normally did. However, that chance was small. He expected to die from losing the power. His nightmare was to be drawn into the shard with his awareness intact.
Being the middle of the day, there was no one in the rec room until a 'con on the night shift came in for some energon. "Hey, what'cha looking at?" Sam raised his head from his crossed arms. He was sitting propped up against the cage. The padded chains chimed softly as he stood to speak to the deep blue 'con. The chains looped into one around his waist. There was another chain hooked from his waist to the cage, and another set on his ankles that looped to his waist. Razorclaw was taking no chances.
"Earth," Sam said. Home, he thought sadly, but a home infested with Decepticons. The 'con sat where he could see the screen and talk to Sam while he drank his energon. Sam slid back down .
"Yeah, we'll be there soon. Be a relief to get you back to the master. Why would the All-Spark go into a human, anyway? Why not one of us?"
"Optimus tried that," Sam reminded him. He closed his eyes. Optimus died to keep the All-Spark from Megatron, because Sam failed. He remembered how everyone told him that it was not his fault, that he was only expected to hand the Cube off to the helicopter to take to safety. No one expected him to manage the impossible. After a time, he finally believed, but he would not leave Earth as long as there was anything he could do to stop the Decepticons. "I was in his hand when he put the Cube in his spark, or so I'm told by Lord Megatron. I was dying, so I don't remember." He went back to contemplating his home planet while the 'con frowned, thinking.
"So the All-Spark chose you because you were in Optimus Prime's hand when he put the Cube in his spark," the 'con said. Sam nodded. "What a waste, the honor of holding the All-Spark on a human."
"Honor," Sam said, and laughed. It was a bitter sound. "What honor?" He looked at Earth again. "When I was young, there were seven billion people on Earth. There were more people in some cities than there are on Earth now. We were just beginning to reach out for space. We had thousands of languages, thousands of independent nations. "He raised haunted eyes to the startled 'con. " I've lived to see most of my race die. Most of them died in the first hundred years. I've lived to see what survived enslaved. I've been a slave in five lifetimes." He shook his head. "I can't even find peace by dying. Honor? For me it's been a curse."
The Decepticon looked hard at him for a moment before leaving. Sam barely noticed he had gone, immersed in self-pity. He closed his eyes and struggled with his bitterness. Attitude would get him nowhere. He tried the calming exercises Mulah taught him, but they were not working. Then he felt a tap on his shoulder and looked up. Razorclaw was holding out a tranquillizer with one of the sweet drinks Sam liked. Sam accepted both. The breeder talked to him for a time, idly, waiting for Sam to finish the drink and for the drug to take hold. "How many times have you died, Sam? "
"Eight times," he answered softly. Strangely enough, it helped to talk about it. They talked for a time about the process, and Razorclaw left puzzled. Sam gazed out at the stars and thought about Mulah's belief that the Decepticons' attitude toward the slaves was changing.
That evening, when all of the supervisors were in the rec room, Razorclaw brought the matter up again. "You said earlier you died eight times," he said. Sam was sitting with Watts and nodded. "I've counted. The first time was in Optimus' hand, the second was with Hook, the third was Bonecrusher."
"The fourth was you," Shrapnel said, and Razorclaw gave him a dirty look.
"I did not kill him. He died of someone else's stupidity," Razorclaw said tartly. "Back to what I was saying, the fifth was Watts, the sixth was Scrapper, and the seventh Decibel. That means we're missing a life somewhere in there. Did you miscount?"
Sam shook his head. "I had one lifetime where I was caught but never processed. It was between Scrapper and Decibel."
Trtr
He arrived in the fall. When he woke, he jerked up in panic, looking for a Decepticon. When none appeared, he wondered if he had managed to get to heaven, because of the mists. When he got up and explored, he discovered he was in a valley of hot springs.
The hot springs and the surrounding small mountains were about as perfect a hiding place for a hiding human that existed. There was a thriving town near the springs at one time. The buildings were collapsed, but Sam scavenged glass and metal which were useful in making hunting tools. Game and fish were plentiful, as were edible fruits and vegetables. He had clothes, but looking around him, he knew he was going to need to find something to stay warm in soon.
When he found the dying mountain lion, thought, he knew his hiding place was not as perfect as he thought. One of its legs was shot off. There was only one way the animal got a wound like that. The puma managed to crawl deep into the woods and evade his attackers. After the mercy kill, Sam got the fur, the other bits and pieces he needed, and left the body for the scavengers.
When he got back to the cave he was using as home, he made plans. It was fall when he arrived at the springs. While he could hunt and fish during the winter, he needed to be ready for days when going out would be dangerous. All of that involved getting out in the woods. He grimaced. Maybe he was being paranoid. The puma could have just gotten in the way of the wrong Decepticon.
He saw no other signs of the metal beings for some time. His original clothes were long gone by that time, which meant that the skins he made intoclothes hid him better. As he made his preparations for winter, he reflected that he worked harder surviving free than he did when with Scrapper, Watts, or on the farms. There were plenty of dangers. He remembered being treed by and having to wait out that pack of wolves, before a deer stumbled too close and they went after the bigger animal instead. There were times before he learned the area and managed a stockpile of dried food that he went hungry. Getting a fire going was a hard job, though once he had the fire started he could keep it going for long periods of time. At the same time, given a choice between being dinner for a wolf pack and being at the mercy of a cruel Decepticon master, he would take the wolves.
At the same time, the food was much, much better, if much harder to get. After all his lifetimes, he knew almost every edible food that existed in the old United States. Pecan, pear, and apple trees were not far from his cave, and there were vegetables growing wild. By the day he woke and found snow on the ground, he had a cushion of food stored.
He set his traps through the winter, knowing that he was better off with what fresh food he could get. While checking the trap line, he heard the familiar sound of heavy footsteps, and got under a holly tree nearby whose branches hung almost to the ground. A group of three Decepticons walked by. They were not in any hurry, or paying attention, so they walked past him without any idea he existed. He had seen –and been caught by- enough patrols to know one when he saw one, and this was not a patrol. Sam was sure his rear was frostbitten before he dared to get up and move again. He ran his trap line, gathering the rabbit and two squirrels he had caught in them, gathered the traps, and headed for home, listening with all his might for a shout behind him. He reset the traps deeper in the woods. The trees and underbrush were thick enough that a larger Decepticon would have a difficult time getting in. He reflected wryly on what Scrapper would say about the areas he chose to put his traps in, and smiled to himself.
He did not see Decepticons again until spring. After six months or so, he figured out their normal paths and stayed away. That worked until a pleasure party came to the woods to hunt. He was setting his fish net when he heard the crashing. There were plenty of bushes around the creek he was fishing in; he worked his way into one and clutched his makeshift but effective glass knife. He need not have worried. A herd of deer raced by, panicked, and right behind them were the hunters.
He heard a shot. After a time, they came crashing back, clicking to each other in their own language. When he could no longer hear them, he followed the obvious trail they left, and found the deer they killed. Well, at least he would not have to hunt for a time. He skinned the deer, took what he needed, and headed for home, using the fishing net to carry the meat.
While drying the meat, he made a decision. Not long after, he took his new bow and arrows, his knife, and a supply of the dried meat with him on an exploration trip. After a week, he found another cave that met his requirements, deeper in the mountains where few of the Decepticons could go. He went back and fetched what he could not easily replace. From then on, he spent the year until winter at the mountain cave, and the deep winter in the hot springs.
Patrols went through almost every square mile of Earth at least once a year, looking for anything unusual that might need to be reported, gathering information that was not urgent, and dealing with minor problems. The first patrol missed him entirely. He heard them talking when he was fetching water. He retreated to his cave until they passed by. The second patrol came when he was drying meat. Again he retreated to his cave. They scouted around for the source of the odd smell, but were not able to find smoke, and when they came across a lightning blasted tree, went on without thinking more about the matter.
He was checking his trap line when he came close to encountering another Decepticon, but this time it was only one. He headed for the hot springs. He could hear the 'con tracking him, but he made it into his winter cave. The con walked around the cave, clicking to himself, but eventually went away. Sam waited some time before hunger drove him out. On his way back to his summer cave, he found two of his traps mangled from being stepped on, and one missing, making him curse.
He began another hunt for a new place, further into the mountains. He came across another devastated settlement and took the time to scavenge more glass and metal he could shape into fishhooks and arrowheads. He found some gardens gone wild long ago, and picked up vegetables he could not get in the woods. He found a plum tree and munched several while he gathered. After about two weeks, he did not find another possibility and headed back to the summer cave with his loot. He spent some time making new hunting tools, and drying the fruit. He had some luck with his hunting, bringing down a deer with a lucky shot of a glass-tipped arrow. He hauled the deer back, gloating over the luck. He needed the hide badly, and the meat would make up for losing the trap lines. He started the drying immediately.
He was fishing when the next group of Decepticons appeared. This time there were three of them, and they were hunting for something. He slipped into the stream and slid under some overhanging brush. He was certain he was wrinkled from head to toe before they went after something. As he slid out of the water, shivering, he heard a shot. Carefully, he made to back to his cave and huddled over the smokeless fire he kept going constantly in the cave, while working his wet leather clothes to keep them from going stiff as they dried. He heard the footsteps and the clicking again. Eventually the hunters went away.
He found the wolf they shot and skinned it for the fur. He began making trips to the winter cave to take supplies, hunting on the way back. He had a good stockpile of supplies when he made his final move. He settled into the winter cave with his stores just in time for the first ice storm, follow shortly by a snowfall. The weather kept him stuck in the cave for quite some time. He celebrated the first clear day without snow on the ground with a long walk in the woods, hunting.
Dried meat got old; he headed out to see if he could find something fresh. He had his bow. His traps had nothing. He headed for home disappointed, when he came across a small deer, just up from a fawn, and somehow separated from a herd. It was small enough that he could get it home, so he risked a shot. Luck was with him, and it went down. He gave himself a mental pat on the back as he headed for it, but at that moment he heard heavy footsteps, quickening, and clicking. Without hesitation, he headed for home. He risked one glance back. They were huddled over his kill, and looking at the arrow. He did not look back again. There was no question about what they were going to hunt now.
Him.
He made it to the cave, hearing them as he raced. He headed for the back, for the glowing embers and the warmth of the waters. He gulped some of the water, needing the water and the warmth. He waited again for the hunters to get bored and go away.
Instead, a huge hand appeared in the cave. The opening was too small for them to come in and shaped so that they could not look in, but the arm reached all the way to the back. Sam scrambled for one of the hunting weapons. They would not work on the Decepticon, but on him they would work just fine. He dodged the groping hand, but it brushed him. He jumped out of the way, but the next grab had him. He struggled fiercely as he was drawn out of his once safe cave into the cold of the air and the colder gaze of red optics. The red and black Decepticon held him up, clicking to two others behind him.
Sam struggled. It shook him until he quieted. "Don't give me any trouble," the 'con said. He handed Sam over to one of the other 'cons. Sam did his best to jump as the transfer took place, but the second 'con held him in both hands and squeezed until he could not breathe when he tried to struggle. Released, he was still, gulping air that puffed white into the cold air. The Decepticon who captured him reached back into the cave, bring out Sam's food and possessions. "I don't know what this is, but it's something he made," he mused, looking at Sam's pouches of food. He poked at the knife and arrows. "We found one of these in the animal. It's a primitive weapon. This is no slave."
At the nearest farm the manager undressed and examined Sam. "He's a strong healthy male, right at the age we normally breed them and send them to the mines. You aren't going to get much information from him, because he's got damage to his vocalizer. If it wasn't for this stuff," he indicated Sam's possessions, "I'd say he was dumped because of the flaw and lucky to survive." He looked over the knife, the bow and arrow, and the food. "We need to get him into some decent clothes and a collar," he added, reaching for the clothes. "These stink."
"No," his captor said firmly. "We've already contacted headquarters. They want him brought in as he is, with everything we found." He looked at Sam, who got dressed and reached for some of his food. They watched him as he chewed on the dried fruit and jerky.
"I've never seen a slave that could find his own food." The manager gave Sam water.
"This isn't a slave," the captor said grimly. "This is a real feral human. Are there more of you?" he asked Sam, who shook his head. "There's a convoy taking slaves to the mines tomorrow. They need some help; I'll take him with me on that trip and head for headquarters after that."
It was raining when they headed out. Sam saw lighting flashing in the downpour as the trucks moved out. There were slaves heading for the mines in the back of the patrol's alt form. Sam almost wished he was one of them. The one nightmare worse than being in the mines was being found out by the higher administration. He shivered in the cab of the alt form, praying for a miracle.
His miracle came with a sound like a jet plane. It looked like a wedge of clouds boiling on the ground as it moved toward the convoy. The slaves in the back screamed from the noise. Sam knew it was a wedge tornado, the most powerful kind, but the Decepticons had no idea of the power of the force of nature approaching them until it was far too late.
trtr
"I wondered how you managed on your own," Watts said thoughtfully. "How did you learn how to survive like that?"
"When I was in the Resistance, we learned to live off the land," Sam said.
"I heard about the loss of that convoy," Decibel said. "No one survived. The patrol involved couldn't be revived by the shard."
"Can I ask an odd question?" Sam asked, some time later. The others were dispersed. Decibel was on the monitoring station. Sam could sit with him there.
"You can ask," Decibel said. "No promises on an answer."
"Were any of you revived by the All-Spark shard?"
"All of us, I think," Decibel admitted, after a moment, and changed the subject.
When Sam went into his cage later that evening, he considered that idea. With few exceptions, the Decepticons revived by the shard hated less and were less cruel. Frenzy was sane, though being back with Soundwave might have had something to do with that. He knew Razorclaw, Shrapnel, and Scapper used to despise humans. He remembered again what Mulah said about the Decepticons seeing the slaves as assets instead of threats.
The All-Spark shard did not have the power to revive on its own; it had to pull on the power from Sam to work, just as the Matrix of Leadership pulled from him to complete and strengthen Rodimus into a full Prime. Mulah told Sam that the All-Spark was finding awareness through him. It seemed that the All-Spark was changing the ones it revived. It gave him some hope.
