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♣ - a fading memory

Pages: 9

Words: 4,709

Quiet

The energon was not the most refined. It had a grit that caught in the intakes and the mess of alloys within gave it a nearly bitter taste. It was all they had, however, produced from a machine kept within the mines they toiled in. Once an enterprising young mech in their retinue had snatched some standard grade energon from the supervisor. He’d managed to get enough to share with D-16, Roughshod, and the rest of their delinquent team.

You would have thought they were imbibing high grade. The smooth texture was unlike anything they’d had before. Unlike the rough, gritty, energon they were usually rationed, this energon did not require them to take in so much to feel properly fueled. It was another area D-16 could see in which the caste system failed. It tried to be so efficient, so clean and concise, and yet it failed to recognize so much as a basic need to those who were placed below.

His memory of the standard grade was still strong as D-16 bit down on a chunk of energon too large to simply swallow. The crystal shattered against his denta and he caught a particularly thick clump of alloys that bit into his tongue, almost prompting him to spit out the foully flavored substance. At least he, large as he was, did not suffer as greatly as the smaller mechs. Many of them left their energon cubes with large chunks of energon unconsumed within. Unable to break down and process the practically raw material. His larger frame necessitated that he take in more fuel, and because of his stature these chunks proved no issue for him.

Seated across from D-16, as he so often did, was Roughshod. The older mech was gazing down at the data pad in his hand reading through one of D-16’s writings. Of the group that D-16 had joined upon his awakening, as it were, only he, Roughshod, and W3-K3R were left and W3-K3R was suffering from an ailment that left him seated on the floor of their workspace back, deep, within the mine. There were two new ones, but D-16 feared they would not last long. Neither was quite as large as he or Roughshod, their armor not quite so thick, their processors not quite as strong. The one, T-86, was jumpy at the best of times. Leaping out of his armor plating at the faintest of noises or motion.

It wouldn’t be long now before they had three new members. Roughshod would report their deactivation and, if the body could be salvaged, enforcers would come and drag it away. No one knew where they took them, but there were rumors. Whispers of smelting vats, of half-living mechs being thrown into them when they could no longer work. Stories of molten slag and arching flames melting armor plating. Screaming victims trying to drag themselves free, to the lip, only to be pushed back in.

D-16 was uncertain what to make of the rumors. To a point he would not be surprised. Very little was thought of the lowest caste. Disposable tools of a lesser value than the equipment they worked with. For Roughshod’s part, he offered no opinions on the subject within hearing range of the foremen and the super.

A pity, he felt, but there was little he could do to change their fate. He took up the more difficult jobs, trying to lessen the loads. Volunteered for some of the more dangerous ones too, capable of looking after himself with any beasts they found deep below the surface.

Maybe that’s why Roughshod had brought him here, to a cliff face that overlooked Cybertron. Up in the free air, and hidden from aerial watchers. There was a series of catacombs throughout Cybertron, and Roughshod knew quite a few of them. This one emptied out into a vast alcove in the cliff face of the Sonic Canons. For all that it was well hidden, it was also massive. Roughshod had explained that it was a natural occurrence as there were no tool marks on the metal walls and floor. It gave them a particularly spectacular view, and a natural outcropping of metal allowed them to ascend to the top of the cliff where they could look out on Cybertron.

“Well,” said Roughshod, tipping the data pad back and forth, a troubled look on his face, “it’s certainly something… where’d ya learn all those big words and such? Y’didn’t learn none of that down here.”

D-16 chuckled faintly, accepting the data pad as Roughshod held it out to him. He looked down at the long script and considered his answer. Roughshod would not turn him in for the truth, but the simple knowing could be a threat. He’d watched as individuals, who knew who’d been slacking on shifts, or taking extra rations, had broken down under the foreman’s gaze, but Roughshod was not one of those mechs. Often times the foreman didn’t bother himself with Roughshod.

“Do you remember HA-K34?” D-16 asked, a slight upward turn on his lips. HA-K34 had been a small mech, the smallest in the mining group in fact, and assigned to Roughshod’s team due to his tendency to procure things that didn’t belong to him. The very same that managed to steal enough standard grade to share with his team. Any ‘wrongdoings’ of the team ultimately fell on D-16 regardless of his guilt or lack-thereof. So, he’d felt no qualms in HA-K34’s habits.

“I take it the little glitch stole that data pad for you,” Roughshod guessed and D-16 nodded his helm before putting the data pad away and out of sight.

“He did, and surprisingly he managed to open it up to the Grid.”

“Th’Grid?!” Roughshod’s surprise was evident by his sudden rise in tone. D-16 looked at him and Roughshod cursed silently under his breath. “Primus curse it, mech, yer flirtin’ with some dangerous stuff you are. If the foreman finds out ya got a connection to the Grid –”

“The results will be no different than the myriad of other times he has taken it upon himself to eek out ‘justice’ for the wrongdoings in the mine, on me,” D-16 interrupted him, his optics narrowing to a hardened expression.

Roughshod turned away from D-16’s optics, his elbows resting on his knees. He sighed, looking back up at D-16 out of the corner of his eyes before shaking his helm. He reached down next to his feet and picked up his energon cube, slugging the last of it back in a single motion.

“Used to be I could look at ya straight in th’optics no matter your mood,” Roughshod said, “now, not s’much.”

D-16’s systems rumbled just slightly. He wasn’t entirely displeased, but he wasn’t comfortable with the older mech’s admission either. Rather than dwell, D-16 tipped the rest of his own energon back, crunching down on the unrefined crystals before tossing the cube aside and leaning forward, bracing the elbow of his right arm on his knee and trying, purposefully, to capture Roughshod’s optics with his own.

Seemingly against his will, Roughshod looked up at him.

In the years since D-16 had joined his mining team, the young mech had changed. Optics were drawn to him, not simply because of his size, but because of a natural charisma he was beginning to develop. His steps, wherever they took him, were confident and assured. Such confidence drew in others who were somehow certain that they could be and would be safe around this daunting figure. Even the foremen and the superintendent, whenever Scatterbreaker was present, found themselves having to reckon with the innate authority of D-16. Neither were pleased with this and often targeted the young mech though it was through no fault of his own this phenomenon occurred.

“I have no doubt,” D-16 said, “that you agree with me, Roughshod.” The older mech frowned, grimacing at D-16’s confident statement. “One need look no farther than to the care you offer those within our mining team. This is not something you are required to do, but something you desire to do. Though you cannot guarantee their safety, nor assure them that it will be there, you go to lengths to provide what you are capable of. If the possibility were open to you, and you could become foreman or the superintendent, would you take it? You who has experienced the deep depths, and has the knowledge available to recognize where we may find a large predator or scraplet nest, where the metal is weakest and likely to collapse. Would not more of our people survive if one such as you were in charge instead of those who sit within a constructed building proclaiming our purpose in serving them and showing no remorse when our frames, broken and deactivated, are dragged away? If you were able to, it would not be only our team who benefits from your expertise and wisdom, but the entire crew.”

“You would see that we are fueled properly. That our machines are maintained in a manner that is beneficial to us, instead of leaving us in a down state during which time our rations are cut. You could organize shifts, ensuring we each had the needed downtime to properly power down and recharge. In all our output would increase. You know this. I have seen your figures – when you have chosen to share them with me – and you are capable of this. Despite your speech mannerisms, you are intelligent and organized, yet you are denied this opportunity merely because others have deemed you incapable of holding the position.”

It was quiet for a long time between the two. Roughshod finally managing to look away from D-16, and D-16 continuing to watch him, waiting for his answer, for Roughshod to speak.

“It’s easy t’say,” Roughshod said, finally, “and yer not the first optimist to join my group.” He was trying to deflect D-16’s statement, keeping his optics downcast. In Roughshod D-16 saw that familiar weight, the same one that had crushed all the potential from Steamspur and from their superintendent, Scatterbreaker. It hadn’t completely succeeded with Roughshod, but it was slowly crushing what little light from the Well remained from the mech over time. Beaten down and trod on as much as Roughshod was, it was a wonder he had the strength in his spark to stand up to the foremen and super at all.

They lapsed into quiet again and for a moment D-16 thought to push the issue. Roughshod was an excellent team leader, but a leader wasn’t merely knowledge. They had to be willing to fight, to strive, and take what should rightfully be theirs. Roughshod was willing to stand up to the foremen for the sake of his team, but he was unwilling to bear the further burden of leadership.

Instead, D-16 looked out from the overhang of the massive alcove. The daylight was fading. They had been inactive for three days now. This was their first ration in that time. The parts needed to repair the mining equipment would not arrive for another five, and repairs could take up to three days after that. It was both a disaster, and a blessing. For those in relative healthy condition it was a time in which they could rest their frames. The lack of energon would not hurt them overmuch as the ability to power down and recharge properly was enough to make up the difference, but for those who were already ill or damaged…

W3-K3R would not make it. When Roughshod had tried to give him his ration, the mech had remained in a near comatose state. Unable to function enough to take in the fuel. If the parts arrived, and W3-K3R was still not moving, the chances were high that the guards would carry him off. There would be no medical attention waiting for him. Whatever happened to those who were carried away remained a mystery wrapped in rumors.

If it was true. If that was to be W3-K3R’s fate, then D-16 knew what it was he had to do to prevent undue suffering. Roughshod had called on him to do as much for a few other individuals. Those partially crushed in cave-ins, calling out for help and assistance, knowing none was coming. Others who had come down with one of the sicknesses of the mind that came with operating within the dark, enclosed spaces. Another that had been partially eaten alive by scraplets; slowly bleeding out and likely to attract the remainder of the nest. The only other option they had for that one was to leave them on the opposite side as they closed off the tunnel.

A clatter broke D-16 out of his thoughts as Roughshod’s cube joined his own in a small pile on the far side of the alcove. The older mech looked troubled. It was likely his own thoughts had followed D-16’s. It was often so with Roughshod. For an individual who claimed not to concern himself with the future, he still worried and contemplated the fate of those under his leadership.

“Roughshod,” D-16 spoke, using his name to draw the mech out of his morose, “how was it you came by your designation? It occurred to me the day I stepped from the Well that you were named, whereas myself and the others were given a letter and number-based designation. You’re not so much older that you came from another era.”

“Heh,” Roughshod offered a faint laugh, “a rookie made a mistake when ‘e scanned me at th’ Well. Practically fresh sparked ‘imself. He’d not been down to the Well since his own emergence an’ got caught up in the glory of it, I s’pose. Took a bit too long scannin’ me an’ when ‘e was done he told me my name. Least the one that got pulled from my spark anyhow.”

D-16 tipped his head to the side some-what, curiosity lighting his gaze. Roughshod wasn’t looking at him, but he could feel the hungry gaze of the younger mech.

“He ‘pulled it from your spark’?” D-16 asked, “how is it that one’s name can be pulled from their spark?”

“It’s not somethin’ I’m learned in, but roughly the data that tells ‘em where you’re best placed at also has some information on who ya are, though not all of it. It’s scattered in yer spark, see? Heard one’ve ‘em high caste talkin’ to another youngling they were teachin’. Said it comes with time, but y’get a knack fer combinin’ and translatin’ the data. Th’ mech who looked at mine overdid it, an’ stumbled on my name before th’ foreman could stop ‘im.”

D-16’s optics narrowed minutely. Their names were not entirely embedded within the same information that sentenced them to their roles. He was tempted once more to press his case regarding Roughshod and his ability to lead the mining crews. Or to ask him if he knew where to find this mech, but Roughshod was still refusing to look at him. Guilt was a difficult emotion to deal with and was quite capable of crushing the spirit. More capable, it seemed to D-16, than the constant pressure from the upper caste. It was a weapon they wielded against people like Roughshod liberally.

“I’m not sayin’ yer not right,” Roughshod said a moment later, surprising D-16. The younger mech watched Roughshod carefully, and he could see a kind of sorrow in the older mech’s optics. Something was stirring him to speak. “And like I said: y’made good points in that bit o’writing of yours. Big words an’ all, and forgettin’ fer a moment yer hookin’ into th’ Grid, which we’re not supposta have access too, yer a smart mech, D-16. Smarter than a lot of ‘em down here in the mines by a fair number. Smarter than Steamspur and that glitch Scatterbreaker.” Roughshod shifted on his seat, clenching his fists and making the metal of his hands groan from the pressure. “But y’gotta understand; there ain’t nothin’ any of us can do t’change what’s goin’ on.”

“It ain’t easy, I know,” Roughshod continued, wiping at his mouth as if something was there – a nervous habit – and turning finally to glance at D-16, but never quite meeting his eyes. “But y’gotta just accept that this is it. This is all we get. It ain’t much, it ain’t pretty, it ain’t fair, I’d never say it was, but this is the lot we got handed. All we can do is protect them that’s under us best we can, an’ do a good enough job that those glitches overlook th’ occasional hiccup or upstart. All yer gonna do by spoutin’ all this stuff about equality and how a frame don’t ‘define function’ as y’put it, is get yerself assigned to a mining shaft tha’s ready to cave an’ when the roof comes crashin’ down on ya, alive or not, they’re gonna leave ya to yer fate.”

“I want t’protect ya all s’well as I can. All of ya are troublemakers. Primus frag it, I was one when I first came down t’the mines, but y’gotta understand. Eventually it catches up t’ya somehow, someway. Either you git killed or…”

Here, Roughshod stopped. Pain had slowly eaten away at his voice until it was rougher, more broken, and his optics had burned the few times D-16 had managed to look at them. This was no beaten down individual crying defeat, but a passionate plea to D-16 to try and warn him of a lesson already learned. Roughshod had lost people, and perhaps it was because of his ability to work well, the fact he learned the areas where the metal was weakest, where they may find a scraplet nest, or the signs that a large predator was near, that the super had kept him on as long as he did without arranging an ‘accident’, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t punished him in another way.

D-16 was at a loss; both concerned and disgusted. Why would anyone give up? If they had done something to discourage Roughshod from voicing his opinions on the matter, wasn’t that all the more reason to fight back? Perhaps, for some, it wasn’t possible. If they were not strong enough to protect those they stood for, if they were not powerful enough to fight back against those who wished to oppress them. Power was required. Words were meaningless if one could not back it up with force. Scatterbreaker’s word was law because he had the power to enforce it. The guards were merciless when he gave the order. Those who were beaten badly enough were often dragged away immediately, leaving Scatterbreaker standing over those who were left and contemplating out loud whether they could continue working, or if they needed to be removed as well.

Every single individual would immediately assure him they could work, and as punishment Scatterbreaker would cut their rations for days on end. Against such control, was it possible to fight back and win? Roughshod was not a small mech, but D-16 towered over him. He was nearly head and shoulders taller than every other mech in their mining team. Only one or two others matched his height, but there was no sense of identity to them. They lumbered about the mine, carrying heavy equipment and plodding along as though their daily lives were nothing more than routine.

Except for when Scatterbreaker called on them to enforce his orders. These, along with his guards, was the might that made his words law.

“Eh,” Roughshod grunted, pushing himself up onto his feet. “Enough of all this. I didn’t bring yeh here s’we could get lost inter somethin’ that we can’t change. It’s finally ‘bout the right season fer ‘em, and I wanted t’show you something s’long as we’re broken down. C’mon.”

Without waiting for D-16 to agree, Roughshod made his way towards the outcropping of metal. D-16 had to be more careful than Roughshod as he followed the older mech up along the cliff face. The snaking path lead them up to the top of the cliff following along several switch-backs. The gouges and other marks in the metal made D-16 suspicious that someone had purposefully chiseled out the hand holds along the way, providing as much security as possible to anyone who traversed it. Ultimately climbing the remainder of the cliff face was no more dangerous than the time spent miles beneath the surface of the planet mining for energon. Heights did not bother D-16. They enthralled him.

The sun was hitting the horizon when D-16 made it to the top of the cliff face. On the far side the Sonic Canyons butted up against a massive plain, and in the distance D-16 could see a massive storm forming. His optics widened as he looked over the vast surface, turning to take in the sights before him, and then gazing down and into the canyon itself. Cybertron, as a whole, was so much larger than he could have fathomed down beneath its surface. Each tunnel only marginally appearing different than the other, but here on the surface?

“Look there,” Roughshod told him, bumping an elbow against D-16’s side. Turning to gaze in the direction Roughshod was pointing him to, D-16 did not notice anything at first. His optics searching for this thing that Roughshod wanted to show him. Certainly the sunset was beautiful, he had seen it before and remembered sharply the first time Roughshod had brought him to the surface to watch it, and then later to watch the sunrise, but had he really brought him up here to see this?

“Watch,” Roughshod told him, pointing now with an outstretched finger, tracing something in the air, “they’re hard t’see right now, but if ya give it a minute…”

Obliging the older mech, D-16 turned his optics to the direction that Roughshod was pointing him to and, indeed, in the sky he could see something moving about through the atmosphere. Small somethings dipped and dove through the last remaining heat currents rising up from the planet, but as he watched them, he began to notice something else too.

Colors began to trail after whatever was flying through the atmosphere of the planet. At first, they were dim, D-16 was forced to squint and focus his optics on the shapes to make them out, being careful not to look directly into the sun, but just above it. As he watched, however, those colors grew more vibrant, brighter, until long streaking tails followed after each of the creatures, and bright arches rose out from their bodies, cutting across the air in a glorious display.

Against the dimming sky, the orange of the sun, and the deep purple of an oncoming twilight, the bright blues and greens shimmered in the air, seeming to sparkle in some places as though reacting to something in the air. Each contrail followed behind the objects and the longer they flew the brighter the colors. The ‘tails’ and ‘wings’ grew longer until it seemed as if they were limbs belonging to the creatures that drifted across his field of vision. Floating, ethereal, in the air. Like thin filament spread across the budding sea of stars that were slowly pricking the sky above.

D-16 was reminded, deeply, of the Well of All Sparks. These creatures, they were not quite as magnificent as the Well, but the beauty they held sparked nostalgia in D-16’s spark. He longed to gaze once more upon the Well. To see the beautifully arching light and color as newly emerged cybertronians stepped out. Their optics so bright and filled with questions, with potential. Untold futures laying ahead of them if only the caste system were not being utilized to curtail them into roles others believed them best fitted for.

A long, low, trill slowly reached his audio receptors. He had never heard music before, but he had read about it from the Grid. A song, he thought it could be called. It warbled, rising and falling with the motion of the creatures diving and soaring. The calls seemed to effect the ribbons of light that followed after them, shifting the blues and greens to brighter colors, and dimming them as they hit a low note. D-16 almost grieved when the low notes sounded, but they accentuated the high notes so well that he knew it would be a travesty to remove them from the call the creatures were sending out.

“They are… beautiful,” D-16 said in a quiet voice, daring not to disturb the air with his words, but needing to express what he was feeling in some manner. “What are they? Do you know?”

“Aurabirds,” Roughshod said his voice equally quiet, but with a smile on his face D-16 could not see with his gaze enraptured by the sight before him. “Saw ‘em once when I went topside with Steamspur an’ a fancy mech who’d come t’inspect the energon we’d mined for th’day. Friendly mech, actually. Seemed t’be the laid-back type. Guessin’ he had a thing fer birds, ‘cause like you I couldn’t help but t’ask, and before Steamspur could get after me ‘bout keeping silent ‘e told me about ‘em.”

As D-16 continued to watch the aurabirds fly through the air, swooping and circling one another, Roughshod went on to explain that the creatures actually fed on particles in the air that were released by the planet. The long swooping trails were a chemical reaction that played out across their frames as they collected the particles using a sensitive membrane carefully extended between their plating. Because the particles they collected required certain conditions to be met to be released from the surface, the birds often migrated. Moving from one end of Cybertron to the other, following fluctuations that their systems were sensitive to.

Other nicknames for them included ‘Well Birds’ because there were periods of time throughout the Cybertronian year that they could be found flying over the Well of All Sparks during a particularly busy emergence period. Some Ornithologists theorized this was because the sides of the Well would heat to a greater degree, releasing the particles in a greater amount. Whole flocks could sometimes be found flying in and amidst the upper rays of light.

Still some others, who were superstitious, claimed varying portents would befall those who emerged ‘under the wings’.

“Actually,” Roughshod said after a moment, thoughtful, “th’ day you were sparked I thought I saw one o’them Aurabirds flyin’ about overhead. Was kinda strange, actually. Yer group was pretty numerous, one o’the highest that’d been seen fer a while, but there was only one. ‘Course, most of ‘em wasn’t very big either. You were by far th’largest of the group. Normally with big emergences like that the whole group’s filled with bigger frames or at least quite a few more Seekers in any event.”

D-16 did not remember such a thing, but then again, his own optics had been caught up by the people around him. Looking to the future he believed he could see in them. He frowned, a little disappointed he’d missed seeing it, but the disappointment was eased as he gazed up at the group that now flew before him.

Better, he thought, to have this memory here for him with a friend than one darkened by the reality of his future. To equate the yanking of wires from his helm to this glorious sight, and the dying light he predicted from those who joined him that day. So many of them now lost. Either to other crews, or the crushing weight of the work they were assigned.

“Thank you,” D-16 said, his voice quiet. Roughshod said nothing in return, there was no need. D-16 was already lost in the sight before him. Moving towards the edge of the Sonic Canyon and seating himself there; legs dangling over the edge as though he sat upon the edge of the world, and gazed up into the heavens. Watching the arching lines of colors as the aurabirds fed on the rising particles released from the planet.

Roughshod joined him, sitting next to the younger mech, and watching in silent as night fell.

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