The first prompt turned into a little short for my story When Wise Mechs are Banished. If you want to see it, check out chapter 10!
Feb. 2, 2013
Prompt 2: Scenario: Any cybertronian meets a a non-human organic alien race
Trips through the Matrix were always disorienting, thought Optimus Prime as he was thrust into the frame of a former Prime.
"It's good for you," the Ancients, his teachers and mentors, had told him. "Learn from your predecessors' mistakes, so you do not have to make them again. Learn, and become one of the Great Primes, those who their people would die for not because of loyalty to whomever the Matrix chose, but because they are loyal to you, because they know that you will not mislead them."
It was motivation enough to enter the memories of other mechs. But Optimus Prime would never, he was sure, find it easy to suddenly find himself looking out of someone else's optics.
"You are sure?" he/the old Prime was asking a slim silver mech. The silver mech nodded grimly, red optics flashing.
"Ah'm sure, Saevus. It's a Quintesson."
With a start, the current Prime recognized Jazz. Jazz!
… He was that old? Because this was an old memory – one from before the War of the Quintessons. Before the Revolution. Before, if Optimus was correct, the Quintessons had even taken over Cybertron.
"Persecutus confirmed it?"
"Yup. He did."
Optimus/Saevus let out a vent. "Very well. Take me to it, Cantus."
"Right 'way."
The two bots started down the hallway, Optimus/Saevus shortening his strides so Jazz/Cantus wouldn't have a hard time keeping up. They turned at the end and headed down a long flight of stairs. Down and down they went, deep underground, before they turned out of the staircase and walked down a long, dim hallway.
A mech was waiting for them. He was mostly red, with black, white, and gold accents. His proud doorwings arched in a stiff, formal, V over his shoulders. The posture alone cued Optimus into his current designation; Prowl.
"Persecutus," Optimus/Saevus greeted, nodding to the Praxian.
"Saevus," Persecutus/Prowl responded, returning the nod. "The Quintesson is this way. We have him in Holding Cell B-13."
Saevus nodded and followed the red mech down the hall and through the specified door. A creature was lying in the holding cell, the thick bars between it and the rest of the world humming with energy. The creature was strange. Its greenish skin was not slimy, exactly, but it looked shiny. Its face was composed, for the most part, of a wide, gaping mouth, filled with sharp, black teeth. It was a bipedal, with seven fingered hands and claws. It also had tentacles, which flowed over its back like some disgusting, living, writhing cape.
"Do either of you have the Quintesson language modules?"
"Ah do, Saevus. You want 'em, or you want me t' translate?"
"Just translate, thank you. Ask him what he's doing here."
Cantus let off a string of warbling growls and clicks. The Quintesson hissed back. "He says he ain't here fer anythin'."
Saevus vented, turned away, and looked to Persecutus. "Do what you must to get the truth. I don't want those organics on my planet, and I want to know why he's here in the first place."
"Yes sir," the Praxian said, frowning. "What is off limits?"
Saevus cast him a dark look. "Nothing."
The world faded, and Optimus found himself in the Construct, an area that was constantly shifting to accommodate the Ancients' wishes. At the moment, it looked like a large office, with walls lined with shelves of datapads, desks pushed against the walls, and drab colors.
"What have you learned, Young One?" many voices whispered together as shadowy figures flitted through the room.
Optimus thought for a moment. "I do not know. What was I supposed to learn?"
A single figure solidified into a graceful, if rather larger than average, femme. Prima. "What do you believe the lesson to be, Optimus Prime?"
The Prime shook his helm, but spoke as requested. "That was from before the Quintessons took over... Did Saevus...?" he trailed off, hesitant to even imply that one of the ancient Primes, though not one of the Ancients, had condemned their planet to vorns and vorns of slavery under the Quintessons.
"Yes, he did. The Quintessons wished to explore. Wished to trade. When their emissary was captured, tortured, and killed, they retaliated. At the time, they were fueled by their anger and wish to avenge one of their own. Later on, they began to revel in their power over our kind. In the beginning of the Cybertronian enslavement, before the last rebellions had been put down, they were kind, for the most part. They could not forget that we had killed one of their own, but they did understand that it had been the actions of a few, and not of the whole planet. It was later that they became what every Cybertronian is taught of. Do you understand, my young Prime?"
Optimus frowned. "I believe I do. Saevus acted hastily. If I understood correctly, his opinion on organics was biased. He believed them all primitive, violent, barely sentient beings. I must not do that."
Prima smiled gently. "Yes. You must remember, even if a being is organic and small, and if their culture is filled with war, that does not mean they are not sentient. It does not mean they are much like ourselves, capable of love and hate. A time will come, very soon, my young Prime, where you must remember. Where you are going, you will need this knowledge."
The Prime nodded. "I understand. I will remember."
"I have faith, Prime. Go now. Return to your friends and journey. It is almost done. The AllSpark is within reach."
The Prime bowed, and the Construct faded. Within kliks, he was back in his own body, kneeling on an asteroid, which in turn was part of a belt of asteroids that stretched between the fourth and fifth planets of this solar system. Jazz and Bumblebee were staring out into the stars as they drank their energon. Ratchet and Ironhide were bickering somewhere behind and to the left of him.
Letting out a low rumble, the Prime unfolded his legs and stood. "Mechs," he called, and his four subordinates and friends were immediately next to him. "We are close. Bumblebee, I would like you to go ahead. The third planet. Land there and scout around, and keep in mind to be careful of any local life. Ratchet, Ironhide... Cantus... stay with me."
Jazz stared, dumbstruck, for a moment, before grinning wildly. "Yes, sir, Prime!"