Duality
Chapter 1
My dear son,
As I write this letter, and think on those to come, I find myself wondering upon the manner in which they will come to you. I pray that I will be able to give them to you myself; alas, as with so many such promises in these troubled times, I fear that the war will prove the lie to my hopes. Such is the way of things; and while I hope that, by the time you are of age and ready for the story within these pages, the war will be over, I fear that the opposite will be true.
That is why I am leaving these letters to you, my beloved Artemis. It is my hope that the lessons of the past may give you some useful insight into the reasons behind the war; as your mother and I have no doubt told you many times, those who forget history are often doomed to repeat it. You should know the reasons why we are fighting this war, why so many have died, why so many beings have been forced to pay the price for the greed of a few, and the indecisiveness of those able to stop them.
The war first began, as we know it, with confusion and lies. It always begins this way, it seems; with half-heard words and half-told truths, and reason giving way to fear. Those with the power to stop the oncoming storm are too afraid to see the danger, or too wrapped up in their own selfish desires to act on behalf of the greater good, and it falls upon the rare and brave few to mount a defence. Thus was our world born, the world in which you were created. A world of pain, of fear, of death... and of hatred. A hatred so utterly complete, that it shook the very foundations of the stars themselves.
You see, I was there. I saw it all.
I was there to see the beginning... the beginning of the end of everything we hold dear.
O o O o O
O o O o O
"People of Cybertron, honoured Council members, I beseech you. Please, hear my words."
Sentinel Prime surveyed the galleries of the High Council chamber, watching as his words began to take effect on the gathered crowds. Slowly, the rumbling drone of voices raised in protest began to quiet, and the gold-armoured Autobot commander was gratified to note that within moments most of the optics in the room were beginning to focus on him. This was important; without the majority vote of the council, the council elders would be forced to weigh in their own vote, and he knew deep within his processor that if they did, all would be lost. He needed to get his point across to them, the great and the good of Cybertron's mighty cities, and he would only get one chance.
As the last voices died away, Prime turned slowly on the spot, taking in his surroundings. Before his appointment as Prime, holder of the Matrix of Leadership and leader of the Autobots, this place had been like a second home to him. As Centurion, he had spent many hours either on this floor, with its intricate ouslite and obsidian mosaics depicting various scenes from Cybertron's history, or else watching the proceedings of the council from among the tiered galleries and colonnades of pale, green-and-white marble that lined the great chamber. The view of the great armacrys dome above them all, pierced through with shining blue-white sunshine from Cybertron's primary star, stirred fresh feelings of hope within Sentinel's spark... his cause was just, and he was sure the people would listen to reason.
"You have something new to add to this council's deliberations, then?" The voice that cut into Prime's reverie was deep and rough, a cascade of granite tones that was as stern and uninviting as its owner. Lord Cestus was sitting forward in his chair, leaning his impressive bulk upon the large, gnarlwood table that stood at the end of the hall, on a dais that marked out the council elders. The Vraxian noble glowered at Prime with beady, scarlet optics, the beard of sensor-stems and mechadendrites framing his face-plate quivering in ill-disguised agitation, and a sinking sensation began to settle itself into Sentinel's fuel pump. "Or is this just going to be another veiled attempt to put across the blinkered views of your Order?"
"Everything I have to say is for the good of Cybertron and its people," Prime said in carefully neutral tones. "That I can promise." Cestus held a great deal of power, through a mixture of old family titles, great inherited wealth and bullish intimidation, and Sentinel knew it would do no good at all to antagonise the belligerent mech before he had a chance to speak. A small, private part of Prime's mind just hoped that the rest of the council remembered that Cestus didn't speak for all of them...
"Speak then, Prime. State your case. But be warned; your previous fear-mongering will not be tolerated."
"So noted," Sentinel replied after a brief pause. He took another moment to steady himself, before starting to speak, his voice held level and just loud enough that all could hear him comfortably. As he did so, he began to turn once more, allowing the impact of his words to wash over the council chamber.
"Long ago, the Decepticons held great sway over Cybertron. They were our warriors, our guardians, the noble, fiery brand that held our enemies at bay. In turn they were honoured, venerated, and granted great power. As everyone here knows, that was Cybertron's first, great mistake. We forgot the first teachings of Primus, that absolute power can corrupt absolutely, and in our ignorance we created the monster that nearly devoured our world.
"Today, we stand upon the brink of a decision that could have equally dire consequences for our world. The Decepticons claim that they want reunification, that our two peoples have been apart for far too long. They say that they will bow to this council, that they will once more protect and serve Cybertron, instead of trying to usurp power, as they always have. Honoured brethren, we have heard all of these things before. And time and again the Decepticons have lived up to their legacy as traitors, and time and again the people of Cybertron have been forced to pay in lives the cost of their treachery. Now, their new leader Cryotek, a mech that gained his position over the corpse of his predecessor, cries 'parlay'. Can anyone here honestly, truthfully, say that they trust him or his kind?
"The Decepticons can not be trusted. They have given us no reason to believe that now, after two thousand mega-cycles, they actually want peace. I put it to this court that their request to return to Cybertron be denied, and that their exile continue to be enforced as it has been for so long. I ask this Council, what have the Decepticons offered us that could sway you so easily? What can their new leader offer as proof that he truly wants reconciliation?"
From one of the higher galleries, off to the left of the Elders, a young, red-and-blue mech listened to the speech with rapt attention. Sentinel Prime's voice had risen in power and tempo as he talked, until his last questions had rolled across the Elders like a thunderhead of righteous indignation. Orion Pax admired the mech for his composure and oratory skills, and felt himself agreeing with many of the points that the gold-armoured Prime had raised. With an odd sense of – pride, perhaps? - he found himself waiting in tense anticipation for the Council's answer.
The answer came in the form of a polite burst of low static, the sound of someone clearing their vocaliser, before a tall mech stood up on the opposite side of the chamber, one level down from Orion's position. The mech was an old friend of his, one he hadn't seen in two mega-cycles, and Orion smiled to see how much his friend had changed. It wasn't just his looks; he had obviously upgraded his chassis, true, being slightly broader and a bit more powerful-looking than before, and his chrome plating had been polished to a mirror sheen for the council meeting.
More than that, though, his bearing caught Orion's optics. He seemed more confident, more controlled, and abruptly the reason struck Orion square in the faceplate; his old friend had been made speaker for his home city. The thought made Orion smile, pleased to see that a lifetime of hard work and honesty had finally paid off for the mech. As these thoughts passed through his processor, he heard the familiar baritone of his old friend playing across the room, and unconsciously leaned forward in his chair to listen.
"If it please the Council," the deep, fluid voice said, "I would like to address the questions put across by the honoured Prime. I can, perhaps, provide some small insight to the matter at hand." A small ripple of slightly sycophantic laughter made its way around the mech's colleagues, but he quickly silenced the sound with a stern glance, before turning an almost apologetic gaze upon Sentinel, while awaiting his answer.
"The Council will hear the speaker for Iacon City," the high, whining voice of Lord Scizzor replied. The Iaconian nodded in polite recognition to the ageing Elder, who sat at the end of the table nearest him, before turning his attention once more to the Autobot commander.
"This Council knows well what has been offered as proof of the Decepticon's intent," he began smoothly, his voice carrying easily in warm, measured tones. "I have personally been negotiating with the Decepticon leader, at this Council's behest, and I have seen that they mean what they say. Since his ascension to power, Cryotek has taken great steps to curb the aggressive nature of his kin. The Decepticons have pulled out of the sectors surrounding both Oceanis and Tygris Pax. They have ceased hostilities against our outposts in the Daran sector and the Aegian Expanse.
"Further, not two months ago, the Decepticon cruiser Warspite actually responded to a distress call from a civilian merchantman..." here, he paused, while briefly checking a data-pad that he drew out of subspace, before tucking the pad back away and looking up once more "...Outrider. The freighter had suffered a malfunction in its FTL drive systems, and was unable to make repairs. Sadly, when Warspite pulled alongside to offer assistance, the captain of Outrider opened fire."
"What was the Decepticon response?" Prime asked, a note of carefully hidden concern barely noticeable for anyone who knew where to look.
"They withdrew, without loosing a single shot," the Iaconian speaker responded with a genuine smile. "They moved off to five hundred thousand kiliks, and sent an open message that they would wait until further assistance arrived, with an open offer to tow the Outrider to the nearest friendly outpost if that assistance failed to materialise within three standard days. Two days later the Autobot patrol ship Resilient arrived, and Warspite and her crew left the area without incident."
"A touching story," Sentinel growled, as though nettled by the facts now that they had been spoken openly, instead of being just a small part of a large file on an even bigger argument.
"It is, isn't it," was the quiet, almost infuriatingly polite response. "The Decepticons have been open about their intentions from the start of their new regime. I have spoken on this many times with the elders, and certain parties within the Council. I think it's time we started listening." The mech raised his voice, addressing the chamber as a whole. "Peace is what they want; too long have they been apart from Cybertron, too long have they been without a home. All they want is a place to call home once more, and in return they have offered us more than just peace. They have offered us protection. A protection that, despite their no doubt noble efforts, the Autobots have not been up to the task of providing. Consider this, please. I ask no more of you."
The silence that followed the impassioned plea was deafening. As the Iaconian representative sat down once more, and Sentinel turned his attention to the Elders, he knew in his spark that he had lost. Nothing he could say or do now would matter... it was all down to the vote. He could only hope and pray to Primus that his words had had enough of an impact to get the truth across. If not, if he had failed, then he would just have to face the consequences when they came. After a moment, Cestus called the Council to order.
"The Council thank you for your words, and for your efforts, Lord Megatron. Your arguments have been heard and weighed, Sentinel Prime. The Council is now called to a vote. Make your choices, and Primus guide your hands. We will reconvene one week from now. This council is adjourned."
O o O o O
The council chamber was silent now, and had been for nearly an hour. Orion Pax was glad of the silence. He had watched as the Council members had filed out, he had watched as the nine Elders had retreated to their private chambers to discuss the day's turn of events. Inside, Orion was a whirl of questions; he felt torn between the obvious sense of his old friend Megatron's reasoned words, and the undeniable truth of Sentinel Prime's own vote. History was in great danger of repeating itself, that much he knew, and he just didn't know which side to believe.
On the outside, Orion simply sat in his chair, optics closed to the world, his head resting lightly on steepled fingers. He might have remained that way for a good while longer, had he not suddenly become aware of a familiar presence taking a seat beside him. Powering up his optics, Orion turned to face the vermilion optics of his childhood friend.
"I didn't see you outside," Megatron said, a warm smile crossing his features. "How have you been, little brother?"
"You haven't called me that in a while," Orion smiled in return. "And I'm hardly 'little' any more!"
"True, true," Megatron bantered in return, his optics dancing playfully, "but I am older than you, after all. A full nine months, five days, sixteen hours, three minutes..."
"...And one eighteenth of a second older. How could I forget, when you reminded me of the fact at every given opportunity when we were growing up?"
"Well someone had to," Megatron grinned. "How have you been, though?"
"I'm fine, old friend," Orion replied, turning his gaze back out into the expanse of the council chamber for a moment, before turning back. "You seem to be doing rather well for yourself... speaker for Iacon, eh?"
"An honour and a privilege," was the simple, softly spoken reply. "One I worked hard for. The way I hear it though, Orion, you're not too far behind me; rumour has it that old Alpha is getting ready to retire, and you're first in line to take up the mantle for Praxim City."
"You can't believe everything you hear," Orion said coyly, the slow smile spreading across his features giving away the truth behind the statement. "Though it would be an honour. So... you've really been talking with the Decepticons?"
"Ah," Megatron whispered, clearly catching the half-hidden note of concern in Orion's voice. "So that's why you're here, eh?" He looked over at his old friend, and saw him nod briefly. "You're worried that I'm walking a dangerous path, I take it?"
"Can you blame me?"
"No, I suppose I can't," the silver mech sighed, before standing slowly. "Come on. Walk with me, little brother. Let's get something to drink, and then we can talk this through, and maybe get around to some catching up? Two years is far too long, you know?"
"Too true," Orion replied with a smile of his own, before standing and following his friend out of the great hall.
O o O o O
O o O o O
We could not see the signs, my son, or else we refused to see them. As a race, the people of Cybertron were standing on the brink of an abyss, a time of great and dark prophesy, and in the end the actions – or inaction – of a few damned us all. We have paid the price, and we continue to do so. Our children continue to do so. And now, Primus alone can tell us whether or not we will survive...
Author's Notes: This is already turning into a monster to write, but a fun one nonetheless. Writing Megatron as a good guy, Optimus Prime in his days before becoming the fearless leader we all know and love, and getting to play with Sentinel Prime (a character I confess to knowing next-to-nothing about) are all proving to be interesting challenges. Should be fun finding out where it all goes!
Please be warned, this is going to take a while to get going; I have Slipstream: Resurrection to finish, a new Narnia story in the works, and I've rebooted my novel... in short, I beg patience from you, the reader. It will get finished, that much I promise. When? Now that's another matter entirely...