Tholin Plains, Novara
Fifth Moon of Gas Giant Atalkos
Approx. 1 Century Before Present-Day
"Run, Decepticons!"
Two dozen pair of legs took off at a moderate canter, settling themselves in for an endurance run. Distance was both mental and physical, balancing the constant strain on the mind with the flagging energy of the body.
"Run like you mean it, you slag heaps! GO!"
BLAM.
A huge plume of tholin mud erupted, blossoming into a huge fireball of trapped methane that clawed at the stars above.
The canter instantly became a stampede. Two dozen pairs of massive, metal feet pounded the dirt into submission, thundering at full tilt over the tholin plains, as all the while, the booming voice of Drill Sergeant Auger rang in their heads.
"Go, go, go!" came his voice, punctuating every few words with another explosion at their heels. "Do you think the Autobots will show you any mercy? Prime is at your backs – behind you, Ironhide is waiting – in the shadows, Sideswipe lurks. You have to be TOUGH!"
Field exercises had been brutal, but such is the way of things in the military. Rapt attention to detail was emphasized – every whir of a gear, every slip of a clutch, every misfire would have Auger in their face, chewing them out full tilt.
That said, the past week had been child's play next to this. Fifty in, the group still thundered along at a sprinting pace, despite the fact that one of their number was starting to flag.
A small, slender green robot, very much still in the thick of the pack, was doing particularly poorly. Her blue eyes flickered and she pumped her arms, trying to add momentum to a failing body.
"Come on. Come ON," she ordered herself. She was just as good as the rest of these 'bots; she'd show them!
Of course, some were doing better than the rest. A tall, gunmetal-gray robot running ahead of the pack looked back, eyes darting back and forth. Convinced of something or other, he began to hunch over, the wheels over his shoulders rotating down to join the two pair embedded in his legs. Servos whirred as he began to transform into a configuration more suited to off road use. He gave a sigh of relief, glad to be off his feet –
A rocket, riding a trail of white smoke, streaked over the heads of the running Decepticons and straight into the ground behind the lead robot.
BLAM.
The trapped methane burst upwards in a tremendous mushroom of flame and dirt, out of which they saw the gray robot sailing, singed and trailing smoke, until he crashed unceremoniously up ahead.
"I said no vehicle forms! Over-reliance on your alt modes will get you killed, rookies!"
"I gotcha, pal." A big Constructicon, lumbering on two blocky feet, swung out a junkyard's electromagnet crane and picked up the smoking robot from their path. Two others supported him as another fireball blossomed behind the pack. "Jes' don't try to hot shot it while Auger's around."
In the midst of the herd of charging robots, something odd was happening with the slender green one.
"Damnable - - weak - - spark - -" she gasped, her processors starved for power. Her limbs felt like they were made of lead, and static crept into the edges of her vision.
A burly robot, plowing along next to her, looked down.
"You all right, there?"
Her footsteps were ringing in her ears now, just her own, every footfall a new shock of sound echoing dully through her metal frame.
"I – I can't – my spark - "
The big robot tapped the side of his metal skull. "It's all mental. You just gotta think you can. Go on."
The little green robot grit her teeth, so to speak, as the pack started barging its way up a hill.
I think I can.
Her core energy readings begged to differ, though…
NO! No, slag you, you awful, weak spark, I can do this. I think I can. I think I can.
The static was beginning to obscure her vision quite badly.
"Come on," the big robot was saying. "This kind of stuff builds character. Me and my brother ran all the time back on the Energon farm – "
I think I can.
The fuzzing of static was overpowering. She would not let it take her, though. If her spark wouldn't work, she'd make it work, slag its time!
I think I –
Her engine couldn't. With an atonal squawk of protest cut short like a stereo being tortured to death, her balance and legs went out simultaneously. Her foot sank into the soft mud as she crashed and tumbled, energy readings cascading down one after another. The last thing she could hear was Drill Sergeant Auger's voice ringing in her head.
A tinny, shrill voice piped up from somewhere weirdly close.
"Feeling better, now, yes?"
Ugh. She tilted her head to the side. Where was she? Lots of computer monitors, lots of diagnostic equipment. It all looked old – but it looked solidly built. Like it was military grade a generation or two ago.
"Wh – what's going on?"
"Oh, your fellows brought you in. You were…off line."
Where am I? she thought.
"You haff lied to us, you know?"
She blinked. "Who – what?"
"Down here. Look down – nein, your ossah down! How can you be zho inept?"
She looked down, her head still spinning. She was on an operating table, immobilized by magnetic clamps. That's when she saw the owner of the bizarre accent: a tiny robot no larger than her own head, resembling nothing so much as an ambulatory pair of spectacles attached to a myriad of claws and surgical tools.
"You may call me ze Doctor."
"Hi, Doctor. What am I doing here?"
"Hmph," it said, skittering around her spark chamber, which was exposed and crackling weakly. "You are here because –"
At this, it skittered alarmingly close to her face, thrusting its huge staring eyes into hers.
"BECAUSE YOU ARE EIN PATHETIC LIAR, zat is why!"
The Doctor crawled onto the table, muttering things about power flows and core readings to itself before spontaneously wheeling on her once more. Her eyes followed the little thing around. For such a tiny machine, it was absolutely packed with diagnostic and repair equipment.
"You haff a weak spark. Very, very weak. I am surprised hyu can even walk vith a spark like yours."
A quick wave of shame washed over her.
But – how did they know – oh, slag, the Doctor knows – my secret is out -
She'd started out fine, as a small protoform, enjoying the speed and energy of youth, but as she grew, her spark had not. Ever since, she'd been unable to exert herself like her fellows, often making up excuses getting out of work, rather than admitting she simply couldn't do it. Running was a tiring activity, and the few times she had tried to transform, she stopped halfway through, deathly afraid that she'd be trapped in vehicle form without a way to fend for herself. The embarrassment and shame were trapped within her, coupled with her memory of the good days before this crippling condition, burned with energy far more powerful than her meager and tiny spark.
"I know I'm a defect."
"I know you know," shrilled the Doctor. "Und you declined to tell us. Why?"
She looked away. Because I want to be worthwhile, that's why.
"I'm tired of being tired. I've been like this…well, since always, really. When I was a protoform – "
The Doctor waved dismissively. "I know, I know all about zis," it cried. "It is condition, it is. Defect, now zat is more like it. Certain protoforms – zey simply do not develop sparks capable of much power. Tiny – barely functioning. Unfit for labor, unfit for ze military. Very, very rare, this condition is. Only one in ein million Cybertronians, if zat."
"You know," it said, crawling alongside her head, "under ze Autobots, your kind is sometimes…recycled."
A chill went up her spine. "Recycled?"
"Yes, off course. Vot good is ein Cybertronian mit-out physical capabilities?"
"I can run – I showed you all I could run, though – "
"How far? Fifty? Sixty? Zhen hyu shut down?"
Her eyes flicked down.
"Ze Autobots believe in ze spark as a soul. Your essence. What you are. You know a common compliment among zem?"
"What?"
The Doctor drew himself up to its full if diminutive height, attempting to look for all the world like a bespectacled little Autobot leader. "you may be small, but you have a big spark," it said, in a mock-grandiose tone. "Or perhaps zis one – 'Your spark burns brightly, young von.'"
A tiny, surgical claw pointed at her. "Und yours – yours does not. Vot good are you, then, hmm? Communications? Rusting in ein office somewhere?"
The spark is that important to them? Really?
The thought of being trapped in menial duty or, worse, being persecuted by the Autobots, sent a jolt up her spine. "Would they really?"
"Vhy not? After all, you have such a very, very small soul to them. Like the soul of a turbofox, hunted for sport."
The green robot shuddered. But what sport would there be in hunting me?
"You haven't…have you told anyone yet?"
"Off course not," the Doctor said. "Zere is always hope, you know?"
Hope?
"What do you mean, hope? I can't just get a new spark, after all, can I?"
The Doctor was looking very pointedly into her eyes. It said nothing, simply adjusting the lenses over its enormous eyes.
"….can I?"
The Doctor grabbed a piece of cloth and polished its lenses.
"No. You cannot. But vee haff vays, then – of making it work. Haff you ever heard the Constructicon motto?"
"N-no."
"If it doesn't work, make it work."
It fixed her with a very, very interested look. " Shall ve get started?"
Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed this look into one of my character's backstories. What could possibly come of this? Nothing good, from the looks of it. Leave a review and I'll see you next time!