Chapter 4: Alpha Trion

Before Tracer could even blink he found himself hanging by his ankle in the grasp of Rubbish. Tracer held on to Lodex. Rubbish was looking off as he carried them through the tunnels, his numerous feet clicking away furiously. It was as though he truly thought they were mere components. Tracer's impression of his captor was that he was merely being retrieved; like how he had retrieved sparks far out in the wastelands. He didn't think he was doing any harm, and it would not change his mind at all if he learned he was.

"Alright, big guy…" Tracer groaned. "These legs… THESE legs can't be yours. Haven't you got enough already? Look. I know you can hear me. What do you call those?" Tracer flailed to get some attention as he swung like a pendulum. "Some aren't even legs… That one clearly is an arm! You can't seriously think you're any worse off if you just let us—" Tracer stopped when he realized he apparently interrupted a conversation Rubbish was having with himself.

"—S'pose it was about time ah found 'em. Bin down 'ere so long they'd 'av to turn up some time." Electric sparks jumped across the top of his exposed brain as he looked directly at Tracer. "Still nice 'n shiny tho; Got 'ol this extra bits 'ol over 'em. No matter. Ah'll just get me tools, cut out 'ol them bits, fix 'em in place and ah'll be as good as… as good as… well, as good as new ah s'pose. Once ah find the top 'o me 'ed ah'll be rehabilitated, reformed and fit to return to duty."

Tracer wretched out his best sympathetic manner. "You don't really want to do that, do you? Do you reeeeally want to go back? Hey! I can help you if you just—"

"—I know you said to not make a sound…" Interjected Lodex "… but we have been discovered, and if there were ever a time to come up with a plan—"

Tracer hastily shouted "Lodex, this is a time where you don't have to be polite. You don't have to be calm. You don't even have to be coherent. If you have any ideas at all I want to hear them!"

"Rubbish was only able to find us because he followed a sound. It stands to reason his audio processors are functioning perfectly…"

"I really hope you get to that point soon…"

"Yes… anyways he also appears to be very self-conscious about his ability to fulfill his function in order to—"

"LODEX!"

"Just make him mad."

"Honestly, was that so hard?" Tracer sighed hard before looking right up at Rubbish. Trying to find eye contact. "You… Piece of scrap! In the name of the creators: the Immortal Quintessons, I command you to halt! You faulty pile of junk!" Tracer felt his words sting as the hand on his ankle tightened and quaked. "You were cast out because you cannot be fixed. Your circuits are fried beyond repair and you look like a rusted can stuffed with melted wires. A drone like you isn't fit for ballast let alone active duty. What are you, faulty? I said HALT!" Tracer was yanked up, swung around that he partially expected to be flung into the wall. He grabbed Lodex tight to keep from losing him.

"AH. Am not. FAULTY!" Bellowed Rubbish. He snarled as he continued "Ah 'ad to follow me directives. We've been through 'ol thiss before! Sure, ah wanted to sort, ah did. But ah found things they thought were lost. Were they 'appy? No, not 'appy at 'ol. Were they grateful? No, not grateful at 'ol. Fix their big 'ol ship they wanted. Special parts they needed. 'can't exactly bring a spare' they said. In pieces it was, so collected them 'ol ah did. 'Ad it 'ol re-assembled into working condition. So of course, 'ad to try it out—make sure still worked. Ow was ah to know what it did? Only wanted to do me job. Ah didn't mean to do 'ol that. Ah'll fix 'ol that too' ah promised."

Tracer muttered to Lodex "I couldn't make any of that out."

"Rubbish assembled one of the Quintessons' secret weapons… it destroyed an entire manufacturing complex."

Tracer was taken aback. The only weapons he'd seen were pikes and tomahawks. "What kind of weapon could do so much damage… some kind of explosive?"

Lodex chirped "Not exactly. All I know is the Quintessons would not tolerate it used by a mere enforcer." Tracer gestured Lodex to stop. Rubbish was about to continue his monologue.

"—We've been through this over and over. Every time we agree ah did the right thing. You think ah'll never find me thinking cap, but ah just know we're getting closer. Once ah find it ah'll be perfect again and they'll see ah'm worthy to return. And ah forgive you, we can still be friends after 'ol. You can still be me legs."

Tracer was growing anxious "You have to listen to me! I am not… NOT your legs! I come from the Quintessons! Yes… The creators themselves sent me to find you, Rubbish. It's their newest project, they call it the… uh, 'reclamation protocol' yeah. You've been down here a long time. The creators realized they were wrong and want to bring you back! Yes, they truly do! They aren't the cruel masters you remember, they want to encourage all drones to be unique individuals just like you!"

Rubbish came to a complete stop. His eyes opened wide and Tracer could feel his grip loosen. "Could it be?" He seemed to relax as he looked off into a non-existent horizon. "Oh 'ow ah long hoped they'd come back for me. Ah've been working nonstop to keep functioning. Energy cells are nearly depleted when ah find them. Each time ah staved off deactivation by mere cycles. Left me so broken, ah 'ad only me 'ed and one arm still attached. To feel agony and fear they wanted me… Or so ah thought. Ah see now, just being tested ah was. To prove once and for 'ol ah'm different… 'Ow did you put it… Unique."

"That's right!"

"Then at least ah should meet me creators with me original legs. Ah'm so glad ah finally found them. Well, here we are! Let's clean you up and put you back in place." Rubbish hoisted Tracer up. Tracer could see they had come to a chamber where scrap parts were sorted into many tiny piles. Many tools hung on chains bolted to the walls. There was a spot on the floor that was cleared. Except for several deep gouges, burn marks and stains from dried mech fluid.

"Rubbish… RUBBISH wait… Listen to me!" Tracer panicked and flailed frantically to get free. Kicking and prying at Rubbish's hand while letting Lodex drop to the floor. Rubbish didn't hesitate as he reached for a rusty cutting tool. Before his hand could grip it, electric sparks sprayed from his head. Energy arced over his body as he convulsed and flinched… tossing Tracer into a wall. Tracer collapsed on the ground as he heard the enormous form crash onto the floor, twitching. At the outside of his vision he could make out a calm female protoform dropping a large tool that discharged slightly when it hit the ground.

Tracer tucked Lodex under one arm as he stood up. He recomposed himself, now relieved to finally be free. As he wandered past Rubbish he felt compelled to take out some remaining frustration. Stomping and kicking the unconscious enforcer while cursing "Piece of scrap! You broken, faulty piece of junk!"

"Leave him alone!" Shouted the female, dashing over to shove Tracer off the heap of rubbish. "What is your defect?"

Tracer, shuttered with a rage "He was going to kill me! You heard him talk, his motherboard is fried. He's as dumb as a diode!"

"Oh is that so? That's not what you were saying a moment ago. What about the 'reclamation protocol' or encouraging more 'unique individuals' like him?"

"I had to say something. I wasn't going to let him just rip me apart."

"Why didn't you just give him your legs?"

"What?" Tracer asked.

"Yeah, he clearly wasn't interested in the rest of you. He probably would have left you alone after that. Besides, it's not like you can't get replacements." Tracer stared at her, trying to tell if she was making some cruel joke. But she quickly turned away and began rummaging through Rubbish's tools and piles of parts. He decided she must've been joking.

"You don't really know that. you're just guessing." he said.

"Actually..." argued Lodex "under rudimentary drone programming, it makes perfect sense. Rubbish is so obsessed with finding legs he'll ignore everything else around him. Multitasking will be impossible given the cranial damage he's suffered."

"How do you think I was able to sneak up on him?" said the female, rhetorically.

"How very keen of you." said Lodex.

Tracer turned sourly to the odd head. "Could you stop praising her? She's one of the rogue protoforms I'm down here to find!"

"She is?"

"Yes!"

"Oh... I would recommend you reconsider apprehending her, she's much smarter than you."

The female smiled, "I like your friend."

"I reactivated you!" Tracer stressed. "You'd be offline now if it wasn't for me!"

"And you'd be dead if it wasn't for me!"

"I... er, um..." Tracer stammered. "Argh! Stop doing that!"

"Would you like to hear my advice?" piped Lodex.

"No!" said Tracer.

"Yes!" said the female.

Lodex's one functioning optic turned to Rubbish. "I don't see any signs of permanent damage. I would surmise Rubbish's been only temporarily stunned. He may reactivate shortly. I would suggest we leave before he does."

"No argument here." Remarked Tracer as he picked up some brackets and wires. He lashed Lodex to his waist to free up both arms. He was about to dash down the nearest tunnel when he looked again at the female perusing the tools. "Don't get any idea's," he said, grabbing her elbow. "I'm still taking you back to the—" The female turned sharply and punched him in the face.

"You're not taking me anywhere!"

"Well you're not staying here, are you?"

"I need these tools!"

"Why? you're not hurt."

"It's not for me."

"Ah, now I remember... Alpha Trion. So he's still alive then?"

"Oh, are you suddenly concerned for his well-being?" snapped the female sarcastically.

"Maybe I can help."

"HA!" She shouted, echoing through the caves. She stowed several small parts away in various compartments on her forearms. She already had a couple tools slung over he shoulders.

"I've been fixed a couple times already. I remember most of it. Plus I have this very analytical drone—whom I did reactivate, I just want everyone to remember that part—so it's more logical to make repairs with an extra pair of hands and an extra pair of heads. Right Lodex?"

The odd head paused as it's one optic bounced back and forth. "That is... logical."

"Except the part where it's not! Why would you help me?"

"Because... I've fixed one robot today, and I think I might have found my true calling."

"You're lying."

"About what? I did fix Lodex."

"Drones can be reactivated, sparks are different. Stop acting like you suddenly know everything. Stop pretending you care!" She turned and was starting to run off in a fit. Until she looked back and saw Tracer trying to keep up. "... And stop following me!"

"Well I don't know which way to go."

"Pick a tunnel, just not this one."

"I would, if I knew which one would take me back to the surface."

"Fine take that one!"

"That one leads to the surface?"

"Maybe, just keep away from me. Do us both a favour."

"I'm scared okay!"

She held back a small chuckle "You, scared?"

"Rubbish might come back online. If I get lost he'll find me again. I know he will."

"That's your problem, I've got problems of my own."

"Why wouldn't you finish him off?"

"Because he's not my biggest problem."

"Um, yeah he is! He's a giant, insane robot that rips other robots to pieces."

"Let me reiterate: yes, he is dangerous, but down here he's doesn't serve the Quintessons. He isn't part of their plans, he's really just looking out for himself. That generator up there—all the drones—served the Quintessons! In one instant they all closed in on us and... and..." She paused as Tracer heard her shutter "As long as they follow their program they are only agents of their creators. We're fighting for free individuals: you, me, even Rubbish. Well, maybe not you. Your friend gets a pass though."

Tracer scoffed "So that's it, eh? You think you're so special. You keep saying you want credit for saving my life, but who built you, hmm? You would never have existed without them. They made each of us, whether you choose to believe it or not! We are all made with purpose. There's a greater plan for all of us being here."

She laughed cynically as she looked back at him "Well, if you're so smart what is this plan?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"Okay, that's how you want to be? Fine. Lodex, why would the Quintessons make protoforms like us? Why would they put us to work in their city instead of using ordinary drones?"

Lodex's optic blinked as he immediately answered "To test the limits of spark energies."

"There you have it. We're being tested."

"You obviously didn't hear him. He said sparks, not protoforms."

"They're the same thing."

"No, they're not! You said it yourself they don't make sparks. They collect them. Sparks are a part of something else, something that didn't always have the Quintessons meddling nearby. Just because sparks have been integrated into their plans, doesn't mean they own you. You don't have to fit their definition of useful. Our friend back there didn't fit with the plan that was laid out for him either. Now he has found a way to survive as an individual. He may be dangerous, but he is no longer the enemy we fight." She shuddered in frustration, and ran down the tunnel.

Tracer kept pace with her as she dashed through the tunnels. He watched her struggle to carry the various tools she'd collected. "At least let me help you carry those."

"I don't need your help!" she snapped, not even looking at him.

"You do, you're just too stubborn to ask for it. Here." Tracer grabbed the largest tool that was ready to slip out of her fingers. She didn't say anything, she just sighed and kept on moving. Tracer wasn't paying attention to where they were going. His eyes were on her. "So what's your name?"

"Keep quiet! Trying to remember which one—this way." She hiked around the next bend before slowing down. Tracer was close enough to hear her servos working. "I was given a name when I got a spark. But I didn't like it. The other's felt like we ought to name ourselves. I chose Escia."

"Escia… What does that mean?"

"It doesn't mean anything, I like how it sounds. You gotta problem with that?"

"No. I think it's a nice name."

Lodex remarked "The creators assign us all names based on our function or design-type. It would seem that protoforms prefer a name that expresses their individuality. Fascinating"

Tracer, Lodex and Escia found a tunnel that was flooded with molten metal surging from deep beneath the planet's crust. Escia knelt down to see a trail of mech fluid leading off. "Thank goodness you got out of that inferno in time…" she muttered to herself.

Lodex was watching her now too "I'm rather fascinated Escia, that you are… feminine."

"Well get over it, drone."

"So, did the Quintessons make you that way or what?" Inquired Tracer. Momentarily regretting the thrilling lecture he was about to endure. He was beginning to notice Lodex speaks louder and more enthusiastically with longer speeches.

"The Quintessons have explored hundreds of planets. Although they gloat about writing the programs for all their loyal constructs they actually modelled their behaviour on, how shall I say, more primitive forms of life."

"What are those, do I even want to know?" Groaned Tracer.

"Oh, you probably do. The question is: will you even understand? I'll just skip ahead to the part where we got better things to do." Escia said as she rolled her optics.

"—In order for constructs to be loyal, they must have rudimentary impulses for reactions of fear, desire, pain and pleasure. Although drones don't express genuine emotions they are simulated in their programming to aid in motivating their actions. But many impulses that exist in the core coding for drones are actually dormant. The creators believe there's no harm in letting them remain unused."

Escia filled the pause in Lodex's recital "—But sparks tap into all the core programming including those dormant files. The Quintessons probably didn't intend for this, but they were able to use it because it divided individuals into technological equivalents for male and female. Some say the sparks even chose which. Others say it can be augmented after."

Lodex continued "—And what I know about the core programming is that males are instinctively driven to compete for females. The Quintessons no doubt let males occupy the work force, and motivate them by rewarding individuals with..."

"Concubines." Escia's voice sounded disgusted. "But they soon learned the hard way that female protoforms aren't as stupid as males. We easily figured out how to escape our little cages."

The trail of mech fluid lead them to a large open cavern. Tracer saw a large pool of liquid energon. On a nearby wall lay an exhausted, but still functioning, Alpha Trion. Escia ran toward him. Ignoring her companions completely she laid down her tools and cache of parts.

Alpha Trion slowly lifted his head. His optics brightened when he saw Escia's face. "Oh Escia... you've done well." He paused as though he needed to find the strength to speak "Though I fear it will not help me now. I can feel my very spark… flickering. I suppose it was only a matter of time before I…"

Tracer slowly approached. He watched the determination and precision with which Escia tried to aid her friend. She pried the sharp tomahawk out of his collar, picked up a welder and some loose parts to patch up the wound.

"There is a great deal of superficial damage…" assessed Lodex. "But I don't see any critical systems damaged… perhaps the spark itself is about to expire."

"No." exclaimed Escia. "Alpha, I'm going to fix you!" she shuddered as her hands worked their hardest to find something. Anything. "Don't just stand there, Tracer. Help me!"

Tracer remembered what the Quintessons told him. "There's nothing I can do." he uttered. He placed Lodex down on the ground.

Alpha Trion rolled his head back. Staring up up at Tracer. "Is that the old Armaetrus, or the new one? Forgive me, I never meant to harm you. Either of you. Ah, you magnificent piece of scrap… I think you knew… you knew it would… end like this. Heh, and I said I would… follow you right into an inferno. How I know you would love to gloat about that now."

Escia trembled in defeat. Placing one hand on Trion's cheek while gripping his hand with the other.

Alpha Trion continued to stare into Tracer's optics. "Everything went exactly as we planned. You, Armaetrus were our warning; I was the consequence for refusal. How I wish we could have all stood together as one. Many nights we spent arguing this plan. You had the vision, and I, as only a true friend ought to, placed all my trust in you. I should have gone. Not you. But you had a way with words: I couldn't inspire people as you did. You didn't speak to our audio processors, you spoke right to our very sparks. You said you'd go alone, and none of us could argue. We… they believed you saw we'd one day be free. They wanted to greet you in the next life… wanted to look you in the optics and say they fought for freedom. That they fought for the spark of every protoform to follow."

Escia began to sob. Trying with all her spark to hold her composure. Alpha Trion's optics rolled back. He wasn't using them anymore.

"Now listen to me! Collector, Tracer, whatever you choose to be called; the Quintessons… they cannot control our sparks. They are toying with forced they do not understand. Yet they continue to use them. They trust in their experience; their pride. They seek to test our potential… potential far beyond their petty wants… had they the insight to leave well enough alone. I can… I can feel my spark traversing planes… Something ephemeral feels to wander into the emptiness of my mind… experiences of beings before and even after… What more than the inspiration of you… you again ask that we might debate about the pastimes of stars yet to be born… Armaetrus. Lay me to rest in the energy of the world that gave us life. From mere energy were we born, and to energy we return. Coolness is taking me. Escia… Escia, my friend. See me off. With not enough strength of my own to stand against our enemies, I ask for enough of yours to rest amongst our friends."

"Help me, collector" Escia braced Alpha Trion's shoulders off the wall. His head calmly rolled to one side. Tracer intended deeply to do nothing as he walked over. He wanted to gloat as he silently placed his hands gently under Trion's knees. And he heard a laugh inside his own head… exhausting itself and fading away as Tracer's optics wandered to meet with Alpha Trion's. Tracer could see the reflection in Alpha Trion's optics of his own face brimming with courage and compassion.

Wading into the pool of energon, Tracer and Escia gently pushed off the elder protoform. Standing waist-deep in the glowing-teal fluid Tracer could feel the cool liquid flowing slowly into the cracks in his plating. He turned his head, saw Escia focused entirely on her departed friend. He watched her until it was clear he didn't exist to her at this moment. He looked again at the floating mass of metal as it slowly sank beneath the rippling surface. Just before he disappeared, Tracer thought he saw Alpha Trion smile.

"Pfft… self-righteous fool." scoffed Tracer. "Watching him go, you'd think he knew the secret to immortality. Heh…" He forced the laugh up before realizing Escia was stomping off in a fit. "Hey… alright I didn't—hey. Wait… Escia. Look, I bet you're upset. I've seen you… I remember you that… Hey STOP!" His voice echoed through the caverns. "I DO remember when you saw me that day." Escia froze in her feet. staring down like she might disappear if she focused hard enough. "The moment you opened me, and saw my empty chamber. I didn't know it then, but I can look back now and—Hey!" Tracer came behind her and put his hand on her shoulder. "When I remember, I can feel what you must have… What made you feel to make you… dammit, will you look at me and stop acting like I'm…" Tracer pulled her shoulder and stepped into her space. Meeting the brightness of optics that have been through too much pain to go on.

"Like you're WHAT?" The caves contracted around Tracer "Like you're not the face of the only one in the universe that believed I matter! Like you're not a walking reminder that I never got to say goodbye—the only spark to comfort me and promise to always be there… And now he's gone! Murdered and twisted into YOU: just another goon working for them… those tyrants! Those monsters! I've seen how you try to lie your way out of a fight. You're deceptive and a coward. You have nothing in common with him and are an insult to everything he stood for. Leave me alone! I can't take any more of this! Just leave me alone before I tear out my spark in the hope of seeing my only friends all the sooner!" Her voice shuddered, faltering as her legs held their composure against anger enough to collapse the entire cavern. "There's nothing more you can take from me."

Escia turned and ran. No direction. Just away. Away from everything that could still hurt her. Tracer wanted to say something. Anything. As far as he knew she was the only one who knows his past… and yet she hates who he's become. No one has yet moved him, captivated him, and beckoned him more than the sight of her so miserable. Gravity pulled him down. But something stronger: shame, held him back. He could say nothing. As far as he knew, her pain was as much his, and he hadn't the first thought of how to ease it. Everything he tries only makes it worse.

Tracer just stood there.

Eventually he waded out of the energon pool. He went over to pick up Lodex, who gave Tracer a sharp, frightened stare and shouted. "Stop! The energon..." Tracer looked at his hands that were dripping with fresh glowing liquid. He paused for a moment wondering if there really was anything dangerous about energon. But his mind was exhausted from self-pity. He shook them dry and picked up the odd head.

As his mind calmed—distracting itself—he saw the tomahawk lying on the ground. Fresh mech fluid was still on the blade. He picked it up and holstered it. His feet were finding their own trail in the opposite direction she had gone.

"How do you know this leads to the surface?" asked Lodex.

"I don't." said Tracer softly.

"What if we can't find our way back?"

Tracer didn't want to answer. He thought for a moment about disconnecting the head and dropping it on the floor. "Please," he said sighing "Just stop."