Elita Alone
I asked to have this job. I simply couldn't stand the clamor of a couple thousand bots who had no idea what to do with themselves. It's sad but true – I've never gotten over those four million years of being on my own. I'm used to it. And truth be told, I like it. I don't need to fit my methods into anybody else's plans. I do the job I'm given as I see fit to complete it; and I guard my own skidplate, if things go to scrap as they so often do.
My spark has never really healed from the knife-wound of losing all those Autobots on Cybertron while Prime and Megatron were knocked offline on Earth. It is relief – release – not to have any other's life depending on my judgement.
Well, perhaps Prime's does. I know. I'll do my best to keep his bondmate safe, eh?
I'm sure he wishes we were still bolted together as we used to be. He does much better when I'm by his side. But after a few quartex of being fawned over by every passing mech, of being slavishly emulated by the newling femmes, I yearn for some escape. And that is why I'm out here now, between the far-flung stars, in a single-passenger starship that's built light for speed and stealth. I am alone; and although it probably pains Orion to hear me say it, I like it out here.
It's not that the idea of 'home' is not important to me. I just care for Cybertron and for our people in different ways than Optimus or even Megatron do. They focus on the healthy function of the homefront. I'm out here making certain that the homefront has as many layers of protection as possible.
We traveled aimlessly through space for evorns, before Shockwave set us into orbit around a fairly young star. Our habit – Megatron's, at any rate – was not to worry much about our nearest neighbors, other than to wonder whether they ought to be exploited, subjugated, or simply extinguished. But if we're going to be here for a while, I want to know what's out here, what surrounds our small, precarious home-world. For I know, better than most, that we're not as invulnerable as we may seem.
So I'm simply exploring. I scan for life, for resources, for each star's stability (a solar flare in the next system will wreak havoc with your relays – not to mention nearby planets). I scout out the neighborhood. I'm planning where we might best build new space-bridge nodes, once we regain that lost ability. I'm spinning a web of safety around my friends – my family – at home.
I'll be out here for eight to ten quartex, I'd guess. I really can't predict how far I'll stretch my leash, how long I'll go before the pull of home will draw me back.
You see, 'home' is, for me, not the girded and polished steel of Iacon, not the tunnels of the under-planet, not even the faces of my friends.
My home, the place to which I always will return, is the small space where I fit, my back tucked up against Orion's chest, with his arms wrapped around me and his low voice in my ear, whispering to me all the little things I missed while I was out here and away. He is my home; and I am his.
And I'll protect my home with every last electron that orbits in my being.