By Thomas Zavier
Optimus
Prime lay upon the battlefied, dying. Galvatron stood over him, laughing
in triumph. And down at his side, Sunfire knelt clasping his hand module
in hers, her mechanoid eyes denying her the tears she wanted to shed.
This
was a place visited often by Sunfire in recent memory; a still frame of
pain that blocked her vision, dominating her waking thoughts and twisting
her dreams...
Optimus
Prime spoke, weakly, his voice garbled and distanced buy his shattered
faceshield: “Sunfire, I am dying. Why have you come here?”
“I--I
know, Optimus...” Sunfire choked. “But I had to see you.
I had to find you, to tell you...”
“Tell
me what? There is no time...”
“I fought
for you, Optimus. I was strong, I was resolute! I was a true warrior.”
She stiffened up slightly. “I slew the Dragon. I fought like a true Autobot.
Like you.”
The face
was mangled, but his optics sensors seemed to suggest a smile. “That is
good, Sunfire. Very good! I am proud of you.”
Sunfire
shuddered, kneeling lower, closer to him. “I knew you would be,
Optimus. I knew you’d be happy. Maybe--maybe now...” she moved even closer,
her voice a shaky whisper. “Maybe now you can...you can love me.”
“No,
Sunfire,” his voice was sad. “I cannot return your love.”
“But--why?”
“Because,
Sunfire,” Optimus Prime’s optics brightened, “you are also dying.”
Sunfire
awoke with a start, fuel-pump cycling rapidly. Blinding white light filled
her optics. Her head swam in the light, emotional fragments of the dream
still burned in her mind.
No one
but she had known of her feelings for the late Autobot commander. All good
Autobots loved and respected Optimus Prime as a leader; Sunfire, however,
loved him...differently. She’d seen Prime not as the military campaigner
that all the other Autobots saw--the War seemingly had ended shortly after
her creation. She saw his inner strength, his gentle wisdom, his love for
all things. She knew of his skill and power in battle...but Sunfire, for
the most part, came to know Optimus Prime as a robot of peace.
She was
so young by Cybertronian terms, and her heart was light enough to stray
in such ways, being unburdened by war and death. War was history to her,
a colorful and romantic, though regrettable, part of Cybertron’s past.
But she
could see in Prime’s optics that it was not so, for him; the horror of
the War still darkened his gaze. She could sense the pain and anguish...but
it only made her love him more.
Despite
the strength of her emotions, she could never bring herself to speak of
it. He was so high, she was so low. He was truly ancient in age--she was
a child beside him. And when he was killed, she blamed herself--for being
so weak and powerless to save him. And even worse, he died before she could
confess her feelings, dying, knowing nothing of her love. It was that fact
that had haunted her thoughts, and her dreams, every moment since Prime
had fallen.
But now--reality
slowly took control once more. She could remember nothing since the explosion;
she should have been killed!
Her optics
had adjusted to the light, revealing her surroundings. Strange--she felt
no pain. Her memories of the battle with Midnight were foggy... but the
atrocities committed on her person and the agony of them were difficult
to forget. Prime’s dream image was right--she should be dying...
She looked
around and received her answer.
She was
dead!
She had
to be! What she saw was impossible, incomprehensible...the Humans of Earth
believed in an “after life”, and this had to be the mechanical equivalent...
Sunfire
was suspended in a cylinder of white light, hanging crucified on an invisible
cross of nothingness. All around her, she saw a brilliant landscape of
gleaming silver and gold, metallic forms rising and twisting into huge,
bizarre, abstracted shapes. The sky was a sea of soft, swirling pink. No
living creatures she could identify could be seen, but the landscape itself
was moving, shifting and turning like intricate components of some tremendous,
unbelievable machine.
All was
remarkably quiet; there was no noise save for a low hum, nearly inaudible,
and a rather soft, peculiar noise that a Human would have compared to wind
chimes.
Sunfire
looked down at her body, held hovering in the light...it was pristine,
perfect, unscarred. She was more than replaced, she looked practically
polished. A robot right off the assembly line wouldn’t look this
good.
She tried,
but found movement difficult. Her outstretched arms and dangling legs were
completely immobile. She could move her head only with effort. This made
no sense: was she a prisoner? Held captive, even in death?
Suddenly,
a new sound: the clicking of metallic footsteps. She watched as a figure
approached: humanoid, with flaring wings and dark purple armor--it was
a mechanoid, a Transformer!
It was
feminine, only more so than Sunfire had yet seen. As much as Midnight was
a near-perfect--though slightly improved--imitation of a mythological beast,
this was a better representation of the Human female form than Sunfire
had ever seen before. The body and limbs were sleek and supple, the armor
curving gently to fit, her facial features were soft and delicate by robotic
standards. The optics betrayed her, however; they glowed with a harsh yellow
that was thoroughly uninviting. As the robot stepped up to the cylinder
of light, Sunfire finally noticed a small red Decepticon symbol emblazoned
in the center of her chest.
The illusion
of death seemed to blur slightly. A Decepticon?
It looked
up at her, smiling, hands on hips. Cocking its head to one side, it spoke
up, almost mockingly: “I see you’ve finally woken up. Feeling better?”
Sunfire
tried to speak, and succeeded: “Who are you? And where am I?”
The Decepticon
smiled even more. “You can call me ‘Tempest’, though it’s only a codename.
As for where you are, Sunfire...” it paused, “you shall soon find out.”
Tempest
raised a hand, and lowered it again slowly. The cylinder of light disappeared
suddenly and Sunfire fell to the ground in a clattering heap.
“Whoops!”
Tempest snickered. “Sorry, Sunfire, entirely my fault. You are all
right?”
Sunfire
slowly lifted herself up, movement returning to her stiff limbs. She glared
at the Decepticon...she seemed unharmed. “Yes,” she muttered back.
“Good.
Now, follow me,” said Tempest. “And stay close, don’t wander off. It’s
easy to get lost.”
Tempest
grabbed Sunfire by the wrist and pulled her after her.
Sunfire
was led--following clumsily behind the lithe and graceful Tempest--through
paths and corridors that seemed to weave deeper into the Great Machine
itself. Tempest refused all questions, saying only, generally: “You’ll
see.”
Soon
they arrived at two great doors; closed, a large circular pattern of great
complexity upon them. It seemed to Sunfire to be a diagram of some kind,
a two-dimensional model of celestial proportions.
Tempest
knocked sharply upon the doors, almost casually, impatiently. They silently
began to open inward and Tempest stepped aside, bowing and sweeping a hand
outward. “After you, my dear.”
Sunfire
recoiled. “Oh no, after you.”
“You
first.”
“Please,
be my guest.”
Tempest
frowned. “You are our guest and I insist!” she straightened
and shoved Sunfire forward, through the door.
Sunfire
stumbled into a huge chamber that appeared to open into space itself. She
saw stars and nebulae above her, obscured slightly by a thin mist. It was
warm, however. The floor was a gleaming pattern of interlocking blue and
red crystals, and on each side--where walls were expected--she saw silver
basins from which sprawled all manner of massive green and multicolored
foliage, assorted plant life from more than a thousand different worlds.
Tempest
prodded her on, past more plants and toward a slightly risen platform of
black crystal. Upon it were three large thrones of the same material, on
which sat three figures.
They
were like nothing Sunfire had ever seen before; thin white wisps of flowing,
ephermery, hardly visible ghosts in Human shape. Two were female, the other
was male. Their hair, tinged with gold, was as long and flowing as their
silvery robes. Their large eyes fixed in vision upon Sunfire as she approached,
staring back into the shining blu-ish depths of those stranger eyes...she
was in awe of those bizarre beings, feeling the presence of something ancient
and immensely powerful...there was no doubt in her mind that they
had made this place, and she wasn’t the least bit surprised as Tempest
pushed her down on her knees, to bow before these otherworldly wraiths.
It was
Tempest who spoke first: “I have brought the mechanoid. This is Sunfire,
of the Autobot faction of Cybertron.”
A feminine
voice answered, soft and gentle: “Indeed. Aside, let her rise, to speak.”
Tempest
stepped aside and Sunfire stood up. The Three were neither smiling nor
frowning, but examining: she could feel their piercing gaze.
The male
spoke: “Greetings, Sunfire of Cybertron. Do not be afraid. We will do you
no harm.”
Sunfire
nodded, slowly.
The other
female said: “You do not know us, but we are quite familiar with you. We
have watched your kind, and many others, for billions of your years. You
see, we are far older than your people.”
“Who
are you?” Sunfire asked, weakly.
“We shall
explain,” said the First One. “You must be patient, to understand. You
see, it begins with your creator, Primus, and his kind.”
“You
are--Gods?”
“No,
we are not,” the Second One answered. “But in them was our beginning, as
was yours.”
Said
the Third One: “You know only of two of the other Primal Gods; Primus and
Unicron. But there are many others, and not all were so violent. All life
in your universe was created by they, and we were the first.”
Said
the First One: “Those Gods who dabbled in material things became entangled
in them, and perished. Those who did not, moved onto higher realms, different
planes of existence. This we watched, as also we grew and evolved.”
Said
the Third One: “We began as organic life, but grew beyond the material
plane. What you see here are only shadows of our astral forms, our true
selves.”
“You
certainly are--talkative,” Sunfire muttered.
“Yes,”
smiled the First One. “It is tiresome to communicate this way. You must
be tested, however, for we must see the limits of your understanding, to
consider our friend’s request.”
“Request?”
“In time.
First, we will continue.”
The Second
One spoke now: “You are already aware of the conflict between Primus and
Unicron, and how it brought about your existence. Indeed, your kind were
created both as a contrivance against Unicron and as Primus’ successors.
They were the last of their kind in your universe; in this plane, now,
all the Primal Gods are gone. Only we remain.”
“At the
time of your creation,” said the First One, “we were already essentially
as we are now. We have, throughout our existence, watched all others, and
learned. We have avoided interfering in the affairs of others at all costs,
to avoid disturbing the Balance of Powers in the Omniverse.”
“Just
the three of you?”
“No--we
are a race of living, non-corporeal life forms. We three are merely the
particular keepers of this place.”
“And
what,” Sunfire asked, “is this place?”
The Third
One answered: “You could call it a ‘listening post’, a hidden station from
which we monitor the activities in this area of your plane.”
“But
how did I get here? I was on Cindras Two--”
“You
still are,” the Second One told her. “This place is in the planet’s core,
concealed there from all others. What you call ‘Cindras Two’ is merely
a shell, a deception, a construct used to hide this place.”
The First
One added: “You were found dying in the deeper crust. Our friend found
you and brought you here, where we repaired you as best we could, at her
urging.”
“‘Your
friend’? Who is your friend?”
“Tempest,”
said the First One.
“A Decepticon
is in your service?” Sunfire was aghast.
The Three
appeared discontent. “Here we must pause and confer with our friend.” They
turned to Tempest.
Said
the Second One: “You still desire us to accept your plan?”
Tempest
replied: “I do.”
Said
the First One: “It is against our principles and our intuition. We should
not intervene, not yet.”
“You
are wrong!” Tempest cried. “She is perfect for the role. They’ll trust
her, and respect her, in time. She is a more than adequate replacement
for my last Incarnation.”
The Third
One nodded. “Yes, yes. We agree upon that. But what you ask is dangerous.”
Tempest
shook her head. “Bah! Not nearly as dangerous as not doing so!”
The Three
paused, looking at each other, seeming to confer. “We can trust Tempest’s
experience in this matter,” said the Second One slowly. “She has known
and observed Sunfire at an interpersonal level before.”
“Wait
a minute!” Sunfire spoke up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.
I’ve never seen this Decepticon before in my life!”
“No,
you have not,” said the First One, “because Tempest is not a Decepticon.
She is one of us.”
“One
of you?”
“Yes.
She is what you might refer to as a ‘covert agent’. She has assumed a physical
material form to collect information by interacting directly with other
beings.“
This
was too much for Sunfire, too fast. “Okay, okay... slow down. You’re saying
that you, you...things...”
“Things?”
Tempest smiled.
“Things!
You haven’t given me any names, so what else can I call you?”
The First
One paused, thoughtfully. “Our individual names would be incomprehensible
to you. You may call us Syntara; this is the ancient name of our
race.”
“All
right,” Sunfire sighed. “You’re saying you Syntara have been watching over
all creation for billions of years, never interfering...”
“Yes,”
nodded the Third One.
“But
you’re also saying that you have undercover agents running
around, disguised as Cybertronians?” Sunfire frowned. “Isn’t that
interference?”
“Not
entirely,” said the Second One, sadly. “We do not like it, but we must.
The Balance has long been in jeopardy...we desire to correct it. We have
power beyond your imagining...but to use such power to directly affect
events could be disastrous. Therefore, we do as little as absolutely possible
to change things.”
“Ones
such as Tempest are our hands in your plane. She has sacrificed much of
her power and comfort to be trapped in a material form...” the First One
frowned. “Yes, trapped, to serve a higher purpose. She cannot leave that
body unless she it is destroyed and her astral form recovered. It is torture
for a Syntara to endure and we respect her humility.”
Tempest
shrugged. “It’s not really so bad. You get used to it, after a couple
of Incarnations.”
“Incarnations?”
Sunfire was still puzzled.
The Third
One said: “Tempest had spent several “lives” in the material plane, embodied
as a lesser creature. Not all were Cybertronians, for not all of our agents
are mechanoid. We agree that Tempest knows you well, because she had more
than sufficient time to observe and interact with you in her past Incarnation.”
“And
just what,” Sunfire sneered, “or who, was this Incarnation?”
The First
One answered, only after a long pause. “Before her last material form was
destroyed, Tempest had been placed in what we believed was the most effective
position at that time. She was the leader of your Autobot Faction.”
Sunfire
stumbled. “Leader?”
Tempest
smiled crookedly. “Yes, Sunny. I was Optimus Prime.”
This
was too much for Sunfire. The world spun around her, the stars filled her
vision. She felt arms catching her as she fell, stunned, senseless.