The Diego Diaries: Homecoming (dd6 124) There may be a misspelling of Dev somewhere in this. My spell checker auto-corrected and I can't find it. :D:D:D:D
-0-On the ground at Polyhex
They walked along the airfield heading toward the lights in the distance. This was once the financial center of Cybertron. The amount of wealth and power collected here was secondary only to Iacon. This was a city of high rise offices where those with business acumen and connections controlled the fate of worlds. If you lived in poverty and hunger, it was born here in the board rooms and bottom lines of the big companies that owned nearly everything and everyone. In the distance, coming ever closer, the broken jagged-toothed skyline of a fabled once bustling city could be seen highlighted and haloed by the arc lights that kept back the night.
The crunch of their peds on the ground, treading on rubble that had been used to fill bomb holes and pits where shrapnel and shells had gouged out the surface before exploding echoed dully. It smelled of decay and ozone. The tangy scent of wet metal and welding rod permeated everything. It wasn't unpleasant. They had all smelled it before when construction was ever present and even here in the urban areas of an alien world, it was. But the hustle of the city bathed in the light of day was missing. So were the throngs of those who had a lot and those who didn't marching about on their way to something or other. Femmes and mechs going to work, children either idling around or heading for work and school … children did both on Cybertron depending on which side of the bed they were born on, all was gone and the area seemed strangely empty, like any urban area living in a deep stillness of night.
Their footfalls felt and sounded empty as they reached a road where trucks were rumbling this way and that. They carried all manner of things and some of the vehicles were huge. When there was a break, they hustled across, then walked up a new sidewalk toward the center of the city. At this point, the glittering skyscrapers and historic buildings of a wealthy and powerful city should have been seen. Looking up to the now empty spaces where glittering windows and lights should have been, they could only make out here and there the skeleton forms of new buildings. They were rising up but they were still bare bones.
Crossing another street, they walked onward heading toward the financial center of the city. Destruction on each side of the big highway mocked them, the darkness and shadows of lighting that was too far away to do them much good yet made things look menacing and crushed conversation. They headed toward a lighted area filled with activity, stepping into a square that had been the beautiful heart of Polyhex. They stopped behind a barrier to stare, some of them with astonished and agonized amazement.
There was a giant hole in the ground where a sculpture and fountain-filled square once was. Around it were, at one time, museums and galleries, beautiful restaurants, shops and embassies. This was a place where corporations headquartered themselves to be close to the big banks and financial institutions that regulated the wealth of a great and ancient people. It was beautiful and filled with energy, conversation and life. Now it was a deep ragged hole in the ground with a swarm of workers digging it out, pulling out broken things, twisted and charred bits of the life they once knew and thought would never end.
No one said a word as they stood by the railing, gripping it with their servos. Lights with their unyielding glare made it seem garish and unkind, rather like a too bright light over the casket of a dead loved one, showing every agonized effect and mark of their end. No one did more than clutch the railing tightly as they looked into the hole, then the surrounding decimated area. Most of the worst was gone, the thousands of millions of tons of broken things, twisted metal, you name it, carted away patiently by those eager to rebuild. The bits of statues, art and other priceless features of their culture were being painstakingly retrieved from the site along with everywhere else as students of the university and those hired from the camps, then trained to search, pulled them out, often with tweezers. They would be sent to conservators who might with great patience and skill be able to put them back together. If they could be, that is. If not, they would be saved and mourned forever, their images becoming the legacy of The People instead.
Ratchet looked at Hobbes, Traachon, a surprisingly pensive Burris, Lucien, and a calm featured Devcon who stood beside them. "What do you think? Did you know it was this bad?"
Traachon glanced at Ratchet. "I assumed it would be. It was terrible when we left."
"When did you leave?" Dec asked.
They turned to him, a mech they knew. Everyone in the high caste world of wealth and power knew Devcon. They knew he had used his reputation and carefully culled information to get both his son and grandson through the best schools in Praxus. They knew once he was on your case, you were over. No one fragged with Devcon. He knew too much and he would kill you.
Hobbes shrugged. "Before the end. We left with a group from Iacon. It wouldn't be long after that it would be all over but the shouting."
"How brave of you," Dev said with a hint of disgust. He looked at the hole. "Imagine the size of the shell that hit the ground and made that. All of the buildings that were here," he said nodding to everything around them, "went up with that shell. Imagine those who were still here unable to get away and those for miles around. Can you?"
Ratchet watched Dev with great respect. He knew that he had a hold over this group of predators and that's why he was here. He had come to hang with Smokescreen and stayed because Ratchet needed him to needle these mechs. They might back sass Ratchet but no one did the same for Devcon of Praxus.
"No." Traachon turned to Ratchet. "What's the agenda?"
A hard rap to the helm from Sunstreaker greeted that remark. "How about a little respect, slagger? Fake it if you have to."
Traachon looked at Sunstreaker, then Ratchet. "What comes next, Ratchet?"
"We're going on an extended tour, then we're going to the prison. It isn't just the cities and this world that's been cut down in its prime. The people were, too. The prison on Mars is teeming with those who shouldn't be there. But they are. They are because they weren't valued. Let's go." Ratchet walked onward heading past the hole in the ground, then entered The Warren, the start of the ghetto where most of the service industry mechs and femmes lived to be close to their jobs. It was a winding trail through a ghost town of hovels, garbage, broken down infrastructure, and scariness. At last, they came to the end of the trail. Ratchet turned to them. "This is the Dead End. A free chicken dinner to any one of you who knows what that is."
No one stepped up to offer the information and Ratchet never expected it. "This is where the so-called useless came to be dumped to fend for themselves. The mentally ill, those without body parts, the elderly, sick, and injured. All of them were dumped here to starve to death or die of things that could be fixed. It was the saddest place I've ever been. Mechs walking around without a clue what was happening. We came here among the first places we landed and worked furiously to save them. We chased them down, we found where they hid, we led them to safety when they didn't even know their own names. Some only needed a hand or arm, some food and rest. Others are being cared for now because they'll never be alright again, they were so injured and ill.
"There were children here, elders who deserved the best we could give them, others who worked themselves nearly to death, then were discarded. They were our people, our Cybertronian people and they were discarded like garbage. When we left during the Great Exodus, the Decepticons would come … the locals called them Harvesters, then gather them up to be smelted. Or, they would shoot them for target practice. Our own people. Half the time, they had no idea that they should run and hide, that's how harmed they were. Helpless and harmed." He looked around. "Maybe that was a blessing for some, those that were melted down for scrap."
It was leaden among the group. The soldiers, most of whom had been here during the rescue remembered what a fragging nightmare this large warren of streets, hovels, holes in the ground, and rickety contrived shacks was. The visitors didn't but they were given a pretty good clue. They looked around, then Hobbes turned to Ratchet. "What happened to most of them?"
Ratchet shrugged, then Sideswipe turned to them. "The ones who weren't thrown into smelting pools? Imagine it … being dropped into a molten pool of metal and melting down into nothingness. I hope they made it to the Matrix. I hope they're living in all the goodness they can find there," Sideswipe said with anger. "The ones that died here … I can still feel their spirits. I can still feel their desperation and sadness. Can you?"
The group stared at Sideswipe, then Maddow stepped forward turning slowly in the dark somber place. "This is appalling. This is horrifying," he said with distress. He turned to Traachon and Hobbes. "What do you feel? Do you feel? What about it, Hobbes? What do you say about this?"
"What do you want me to say, Maddow?" Hobbes said solemnly. "What can I do now about this? It's over and I can't make one thing right."
"Then you do admit that this wasn't good, that it wasn't right," Hauser said as he turned to the four mechs who stared at him silently. "This is the direct result of The System. This hell hole is the outcome of your policies. What do you say about that?"
"I don't have to say anything to you, Hauser. Nor you," Hobbes said as he looked at Ratchet. "I know what you're doing. You're trying to shame me, to make me say that I'm responsible for this when I'm not."
"Then who is?" Maddow asked coldly. "These mechs and femmes suffered because of policies you helped pass and then administered. Behind every terrible policy and crime are the faceless sparkless bureaucrats that make the wheels turn. Without you pushing the programs and policies, things wouldn't happen would they? What about you, Burris? You're uncharacteristically silent."
Burris looked at Maddow with contempt. "You can't push me around, Maddow. I wasn't part of this."
"No. Your crimes lay off world in the mines. All the dead at the bottom of the inadequate unsafe shafts. You didn't kill anyone here. You were too busy killing off world," Maddow said bitterly.
Burris stepped forward but Hauser pushed him back. For all his bluster, Burris was a good swordsman and an adequate fighter. "What's the matter, Maddow? Too cowardly to face me? You never were much of a mech. You always had Hauser stepping between you and anyone else."
With a speed that was impressive, Maddow stepped forward and struck Burris on the chin. The big mech staggered, then moved toward him. Sunstreaker pushed him back. "I'd love to see this happen but this is a crime scene. A lot of our people died and were murdered here. Have some respect or I'll tear your arms off and feed them to you."
Burris stepped back, his glare moving from a seething Maddow to Sunstreaker. He looked at Ratchet. "What's next?" he asked as Dev rapped his helm. He turned on Dev, then stepped back. "So … you're going to beat us up too?"
"Only if you deserve it and I don't think we have to worry about Primus and His disapproval if we do," Sideswipe said.
"Let's go. We need to go to Praxus," Ratchet said as he walked back the way they came. Following together, the high castes sullenly walked back through the entire downtown of Polyhex to the airport. They clambered aboard Impactor's Revenge, sat down and the ship lifted up before the hatch closed. It was tense and silent as everyone stared ahead with stony faces. Ratchet turned to the pilot. "Jag, we're going to Praxus."
"On it, Ratchet," he said as they banked, then sped faster into the eternal infernal night.
-0-Home
Owen Harris walked through the farm with Pierre Beliveau inspecting and discussing the set up and the enormous area for their growing fields. Instead of the small room with tables set up for hydroponic and other forms of experimental farming they had originally planned, there were vast fields set in enormous bordered squares where the dark rich soil was being tilled for plantings. They were growing some things from scratch. Seeds were germinating in labs while others would be entirely planted from shipped specimens from Earth.
Down in the quarters areas, Mariah and Allison were making calls for local women to come for a luncheon in two days. It would be a meet-and-greet. Among the invitees were the Resort team, the soldier femmes, Carly Brooks-Spencer, Mikaela Banes, Olivia Bowers, Charlotte Mearing, and a number of the most influential women in Sciences. It would be held in the formal rooms where parties and other formal and informal gatherings would congregate in future. This would be the first public gathering for the habitat so they wanted it to be great. Leonora Huttle was invited as well. She would be the vehicle to make the habitat a household word. That is, she would be a logical person to make the two women a household word as the social face of Earth2.
It would take a lot of phone calls to track everyone but they would all agree to come.
-0-On the way to Praxus
"This city was flattened by a Seeker annihilation. Very little was standing but a lot collapsed, burying things that are priceless beyond words. It also is the place where, at the time of the bombing, only one individual survived the attack. There are many Praxians showing up, my old mech and his family included but at the time of the attack, only one individual lived through it. The city is a slow work in progress. You can remember how beautiful it was, I'm sure. I can," Ratchet said. He vented a sigh. "All of the stuff you see is a slagging big improvement over when we first landed. The people were starving and rushed the titans in great numbers. It was a nightmare. Now, its getting better. Maybe we can rebuild the old city again. I hope so."
Devcon nodded. "Me too. My son and grandson need their legacy back."
The soldiers nodded. Smokescreen stared at the group. "This was my town, too. My son and grandson bear it as their surname designation. Even if we were banned from most of it, we loved it too. Maybe more. We saw it go up. We saw it burn. We knew that a million of our people were killed in their recharge. We climbed over the smoldering bodies looking for the living but there wasn't any. Only one little kid. That's what I see in my dreams. What do you see?" he asked.
No one answered.
Hauser and Maddow sat next to Devcon. Dev looked at them. "We know you aren't part of this. We know that you tried, Maddow. You and Hauser were imprisoned off and on for opposing things." He looked at the soldiers around him. "I want you to know that just in case."
They nodded, then everyone looked at the others who weren't excused. It was silent until they landed. "We're here. Let's go," Ratchet said as he rose. He walked out and the others followed solemnly.
It wasn't as dark because there were more titans around and lighting had been a priority to everyone. In the distance, finished and soon-to-be finished towers surprised the newbies. They stared at the habitations which were in the high caste district, one of the several that was nearest to the old stadium where Cybertronian football had been played and concerts heard. During the rise of revolution, the stadium had held rallies both for and against the government since Praxus was ground zero of the intelligentsia's rise in rebellion. That husk was still blown out but in some fine far off orn, maybe it would rise again.
They followed Ratchet as he led the way toward town. Down well made streets they walked as all around them tower after tower rose upward. Some were finished and there were obvious signs that they were occupied. "Who lives in the towers, Ratchet?" Maddow asked as he looked all around himself.
"Those most in need. The elders, the sick and disabled. We have fourteen million civilians living in the camps in the greater Praxus metro area alone. We have half a million living in these towers. Its a drop in the bucket but three more towers are going to come online soon and we can move one and a half million into them."
"These are our type, aren't they? They're incredibly more tall and bigger overall than on Mars. Right?" Maddow asked.
Ratchet nodded. "Yes. We're building to our tastes here. We're improving everything from grid layouts to the utilitarian infrastructure. But the building designs and general rebuild will follow the old city and be Cybertronian the way we like it. We have a lot of civilians to re-house and haste combined with careful skilled construction is of the essence."
They halted in the geographical center of a once immensely beautiful, cultured and well designed city. The square had been reconstructed with all its various sitting spaces. Around it, tall buildings were rising. There were over 32 towers in various stages of rebuild. They soared upward, many of them into the darkness of the ever night sky. Some were rebuilt and they sparkled here and there with lights from those inside.
"This is good to see," Hauser said. "It's been a while since I was here."
"Where do we stand on the serial killers?" Sideswipe asked.
"We have two in custody, we're tracking 3 closely and have leads on 12 others," Hauser said.
Burris turned to him with surprise. "So many?"
"That's about normal for a place as big as Cybertron. These are the ones we know about. Look around you, Burris. Look at what our people have had to suffer. I'm surprised there aren't more," Hauser said. He looked at Ratchet. "Hopefully, we can get three more before the weekend."
"Good," Ratchet said. "It makes me weary thinking about all of it."
Hauser nodded. "I know."
They stared around themselves, then followed Ratchet to the edge of the construction zone to climb a pile of building materials being stockpiled in great quantities for the project. When they reached the top, they saw spread out in the inky darkness an endless array of lights. Below in the depression that led to the horizon, the camps that held the people could be seen. It was so vast that the topographical design of the area was lost to them as the size of the spectacle disoriented everyone.
"So many," Maddow whispered.
"These are the ones that are lucky," Sunstreaker said.
Ratchet watched a moment, then climbed downward to head toward another vast area nearby. They walked along a road with very little around it but towering stacks of building materials waiting to be used until they came to an open space again. In the area in front of them was a large pit. Torches lit the area throwing weird eerie light. It was a mass grave. "This is one of too many mass graves for our people. No matter where we dig or search, we find the dead. We take their transponders so we know who they are, wrap them up and take them to a mass grave depot. The priests and others trained to do the burials and rituals take care of the rest. This is a temporary grave. We're going to move to a more permanent site when we can do better for them as things allow. Until then, they rest here with us."
It was incredibly silent as they stared at the sight, at the endless rows of boxes stacked on top each other, all of them wrapped in a flag of Cybertron. Two priests were there doing evening prayers for the dead. Soon enough, trucks would roll up or cargo runabouts would land and more caskets would arrive. They would be given respect and a flag of their home world before joining all the others. It would be the best that could be offered for now.
"How many do we think we lost, Ratchet?" Maddow asked.
Ratchet glanced at the others who were staring at the sight with shuttered expressions. "Too many, Maddow, but in fact, it's believed we lost more than a billion of our people."
It was funereally quiet as nearby, a ship was coming in to land. It bore the markings of the Office of the Coroner, Iacon District #1 on its side. It would land nearby, then the hatch would open. Mechs inside would carry the first of half a dozen small caskets that either indicated children, mini-cons or body parts. They would be handed over to the priests who would receive them, then give them the final prayers. It would be a very mournful moment.
-0-TBC 9-11-17 edited 9-12-17
To those in harms way, you are loved. Just remember that. No matter where on this little blue marble you are, you are loved. -Me
ESL: 'which side of the bed you were born on … which side of the tracks you came from … expressions about wealth and poverty. If you were born on the right side of each, you were going to have a great life. Otherwise, not so much.