Disclaimer: I own none of the characters from Transformers, I'm only borrowing them for awhile. This story firs in with Generation One, Beast Wars and Beast Machines canon, more or less.
The Old Timer
No one visiting the planet of Junk knew how old the one called Old Timer actually was. His spark was bright and powerful, stronger than any Technorganic, Maximal or Predicon. He lived among the Junkions in a scrap rebuilt body but all who knew him realized he was different. He worked in the forges recycling scrap that fell to their world, and the evenings told stories.
With the vividness of having been there he told the rare visitors of the Great War, the struggles between heroic Autobots and treacherous Decepticons. He talked of the battles for Iacon, the fall of the Autobot Senate and the battles on the moons.
As the stories spread historians from Cybertron came, recording his tales and comparing them to surviving records. He became popular with a younger generation of transformer, too, eager to hear about a era so different than their own peaceful time. There was only one figure of the older era that he did not talk about, and that was Starscream.
'The Traitor' was how the Old Timer referred to him, when he spoke of him at all. It was a strange omission, when you considered his willingness to speak of both Autobots and Decepticons. He was fair and even handed to both sides, telling exciting tales of heroes on both sides. He seemed to hold only Starscream in contempt, but no one knew why.
The Old Timer was finishing up one story when the historian Alita Pax watched, her softly glowing eyes focused and intent. "Old Timer!" the feminine shaped golden Cybertronian called to him, "I have a request."
He looked at her calmly as he tilted his head to the side, "Yes?"
"Will you tell me about Starscream?" Alita asked. She saw his dark expression and quickly added, "For the archives."
Old Timer gave her a long, steady look of annoyance. "I am certain," he said with a oddly unemotional tone of voice, "there is plenty of data in the archives of his treachery."
Old Timer moved to break free of the crowd, but Alita hurried to put herself in his way. The slim Technorganic gulped as he loomed over her, but she held her ground. "Not from your perspective, sir," she said quietly. "Please?"
Old Timer looked down at her, his eyes glowing dangerously, then he seemed to slump. "The Traitor should be left to history, little one," was all he said as he stepped around her and clumped off into the twilight.
Alita watched him walk off, his gait slightly lopsided from his wreckage rebuilt body. "I nearly had him," she muttered to herself.
One of the Junkions looked at her thoughtfully, stroking his metal goatee. "You shouldn't push him like that, Cybertronian," he noted finally.
"You're.. Wreck-gar, yes?" Alita asked curiously.
"One of them," he nodded with a slight smile.
Alita decided she didn't want to push that as she instead asked, "Who is the Old Timer, sir? No one seems to know."
"I don't know either, Alita Pax," the Junkion told her. "He's been here as long as I have been functional, working beside the Junkions at the processing plant and keeping to himself." He shrugged, "If he doesn't want to say, we won't force him."
"But...," Alita sounded frustrated, "he's clearly a survivor of the Great War! The details in his stories all point to him being a eye-witness to those times. The insights he could give us..."
"He tells his stories to you," Wreck-gar noted mildly, "isn't that enough?"
Alita shook her head as she said, "But there's so much more he could do! There is so little solid data on that era..."
"So why chase him about Starscream?" Wreck-gar asked thoughtfully.
Alita met his eyes defiantly, "I think he's the lost Autobot Jetfire. He disappeared before the final years of the second Great War..."
"And he had cause to hate Starsceam," Wreck-gar acknowledged. He shrugged after a moment, "Push him if you wish, Alita. But I don't think it will do you much good."
Before she could ask him what he meant he transformed to cycle mode, racing off across the garbage strewn surface of Junk. Alita walked off and found someplace to sit apart from the workers and visitors as she took her data-slate, running through her recordings of the Old Timer's tales.
It was fascinating, listening to the recordings both she and other researchers had made. It was fascinating listening to first or at least second-hand accounts of the great battles of the Wars, of the return of Unicron, the rise and fall of Galvatron and others. She became enthralled in her research, studying the files until she realized the light was fading.
Alita got up, frowning as she realized she had little time to catch the shuttle off planet. Getting up she packed her devices away as she hurried along, for a moment wishing she had a faster transformed mode. Still, with the centuries of peace there hadn't been a need...
Passing by the structures that Junkions lived in she heard two figures talking, and unconsciously slowed to listen.
"... and does it even matter any more?" Wreck-gar was asking.
The Old Timer was sitting against the side of the hut, the larger figure studying Wreck-gar as he said, "It matters to me."
"She's already decided you're Jetfire," Wreck-gar noted with amusement.
"WHAT?" the Old Timer looked at him in shock. "He does not... I thought he was still alive?" he stammered, his expression pained.
"No one has seen him in a long time," Wreck-gar shrugged slightly.
Old Timer shook his head wryly. "Knowing him he finally decided to go exploring," he noted, his face taking on a fond expression, "he always wanted to explore deep space, beyond the limits of our existing knowledge."
"You knew him that well?' Wreck-gar asked.
"We were close, once," Old Timer agreed.
Alita felt a pang of disappointment. Clearly the Old Timer wasn't Jetfire. So who was he? And why was he hiding here?
"Here's JOHNNY!" Wreck-gar yelled as he suddenly appeared before her.
"EEEK!" Alita yelped, jumping.
"I see we're being watched," Old Timer frowned, the older transformer looking more resigned than anything else. Seeing Alita's rather shaken look he asked, "Are you all right?"
"Just startled," Alita managed to answer sheepishly.
"Sorry," Wreck-gar said to her apologetically, "we abandoned copying TV years ago, but old instincts die hard."
"Ah," Alita had no idea what he was talking about, so she just nodded.
"No one recognizes the classics," Wreck-gar shook his head with a sigh.
"The Shining," Old Timer offered, making Wreck-gar brighten up noticeably.
"All work and no play...," Wreck-gar chanted in a sing-song voice, grinning.
Old Timer gave him a amused look then looked at Alita. "The Junkions first pattered their speech patterns on Television programs they received from Earth," he explained, "they've mostly outgrown it, but occasionally revert."
"I see," Alita said, feeling a little foolish that she hadn't remembered, being a historian and all.
Wreck-gar excused himself, the mismatched transformer walking off and leaving the two alone. "So," the Old Timer said after a moment, "you want to hear of Starscream?"
"Yes," Alita answered eagerly, fumbling with her recording device.
Old Timer looked off into the distance as he sat down, trying to decide what to say. "Starscream was the commander of the Decepticon Air Forces, third in command of the Decepticon Armada, and was once the brightest star of the Decepticons," he told her.
Alita leaned forward intently, hearing something like regret in his voice.
"But Starscream was also too full of pride, and that led to his downfall," Old Timer said flatly. "He betrayed Megatron more than once, even nearly sending Megatron to his death. When Megatron returned as Galvatron, he was slain."
"I thought...," Alita sounded confused.
"Oh, he came back," Old Timer smiled grimly. "Starscream was blessed or cursed with a immortal Spark. Each time his body was destroyed he found himself continuing on, bodiless."
Alita shook her head, "Incredible."
"Yet Starscream squandered that great gift," Old Timer mused. "again and again he grabbed for power, betraying his allies and leaders. At times he even strode among the most powerful beings in the universe, yet each time his own treachery brought him down."
Alita nodded, fascinated.
The Old Timer looked at her, "He went on .like this for... a unknown amount of time. He fought beside Maximal and Predicon, under other identities. He saw the reformatting of Cybertron itself, and went out into the void to seek his fortune. And in the end he accomplished nothing."
"You really think so?" Alita asked quietly.
Old Timer laughed as he got up, "Starscream is now a word meaning unreasonably treacherous, or to BE unreasonably treacherous. He's become merely a joke."
Before Alita could ask any more the old transformer walked off, disappearing into the twilight on the planet of Junk.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0
Wreck-gar came across the Old Timer later that evening, finding the old transformer looking out into starry space from the edge of the Junk planetoid. "Don't jump," he told him, "it would take forever to rebuild you again."
Old Timer snorted in amusement, "I'm not that stupid. I don't like pain, even if I can't die."
Wreck-gar looked over at him thoughtfully a moment. "Do you ever miss being him?" he asked thoughtfully.
"Not really," Old Timer admitted after a moment. "Starscream was always in a hurry, and he cared nothing about anyone else."
"And you like telling stories," wreck-gar noted.
"Yes I do," Old Timer sounded surprised as he smiled. "Besides, I get to put in a few jabs at Megatron too."
"You're still not over that?" Wreck-gar laughed.
"Never," Starscream gave his old, sly smile, then laughed too.
End
Notes: This was originally gonna be a short piece with Old Timer telling the tale of Starscream, then revealing in his thoughts he was Starscream himself. But on thinking about it, I thought it deserved fleshing out a bit.
This is in line with TF generation one, Beast Wars and Beast Machines, more or less. My thought is that he fought in every major war on Cybertron, left the planet, lived thousands of years and finally just got sick of himself and retired to the planet of Junk.
