Technoimpressionism

2359.

Star Saber slowly knelt down, carefully laying his sword down onto the polished surface of the planet. The blade shimmered in the sunlight, like a jewel in his new crown. There was one last panel to fit. Star Saber traced his fingers around the edges and corners of the steel slab, sliding it into place. A fine laser beam sparked from his finger, heating the edges of the slab, welding it to the edges of the others.

He imagined he was sealing the coffin of Xal—his father—and Optimus Prime—his brother.

The metal glowed orange and then quickly faded once the laser stopped. The join was seamless. Star Saber glanced across to the other slabs. They formed a mirror-like skin that stretched out in all directions towards the horizon.

Everything was going to plan: The installation of the Oracle to hide the “Vector Sigma” Geode his Cyberformers had found; the construction of replicas of Cybertron’s greatest cities… Everything would be complete within orns.

He picked up his sword and returned to his feet. His optics narrowed slightly and he swung his sword out to his right, gesturing to the fresh new shiny surface of the planet.

He announced to his fellow Decepticons: “I declare the planet Earth… closed.”

2984.

Another explosion rocked the Aurora. Rattrap sped through the corridors towards the bridge, searching for Thunderjaw. There was another explosion and Rattrap almost lost his balance. Outside the grounded Aurora Maximals, Predacons, and Vehicons battled with humans. Rattrap wasn’t too concerned with that right now, he was more concerned with figuring out exactly what the humans were planning.

“Found you!” the Maximal said, spying Thunderjaw. The large robot was motionless, lying on his back on the central control slab that stood in the middle of the Bridge. Rattrap stretched up and waved his hand over Thunderjaw’s blank optics. “Figures,” he muttered.

Thunderjaw had been hooked up to the Aurora’s computer core via a crudely-made cable that had been jammed into the back of his head. It looked painful.

“Well, I’ll be honest with you,” Rattrap said, expecting no reply. “I have no idea what I should be doing, but it’s Hell-on-Earth out there. I think Cheetor was expecting a peaceful discussion with the humans, but they just attacked. And then Cheetor collapsed and Botanica took him away. That left Silverbutt in charge, and he decided to counterattack. It’s like I say, we’re all going to die.”

Rattrap paused for a second. “Wow. First time that phrase hasn’t been followed by, ‘Shut up, Rattrap!’

“So anyway,” the Maximal continued. “The humans began pouring out of the Aurora, firing at us and we duck for cover. Silverbolt then turns to me and orders me to, ‘do something’. Oh jeez, why didn’t I think of that? Why don’t I just do something?

“I figured I ought to come and find you, get some answers. But then I find you like—“ Rattrap frowned. “This.”

Rattrap pressed the cable that ran from the back of Thunderjaw’s head. It was welded on. “Probably shouldn’t touch that,” Rattrap said, allowing his tail to swing into his hands, “but luckily there are other ways to access your memories other than via your Cerebral Access Port.”

The end of Rattrap’s tail opened and unfolded, revealing a myriad of connectors. “Bound to be something here that’ll let me interface.” He laughed suddenly. “Good job you’re not in beast mode, I wouldn’t want to have to plug into your ass to access your mem-files.”

Rattrap continued talking as he searched for a suitable interface. “So what do you reckon to all this? Silverbolt seems pretty adamant about fighting to keep the planet, but I think I’m on Cheetor’s side. I mean, we have the location of the real Cybertron, so why not just give the humans their planet back and go find our real home.

"But then, the humans did attack, so I guess Silverbolt is right to retaliate. Though if I were in charge, I would have ordered a retreat. At least that way we’d all get out alive. Who knows who’s getting killed out there right now. I think it’s all confidence with Silverbolt, he just wants something to cling on to—a cause, crusade, anything. Poor lad. He’s had a rough time since he came online: fused, used, and abused. Naturally Blackarachnia is siding with him. I don’t trust her though, never have. The amount of times I’ve spied her getting up to no good. Heh, geddit? Spied-her? Spider? Maybe I’ll save that joke for someone’s who’s conscio—

“Aha! Found it,” Rattrap announced, inserting his tail into a compatible access port in Thunderjaw’s abdomen. “Just a couple of nanoclicks and we’ll find out just what the humans are—”

Rattrap stopped suddenly, his face sinking. “Looks like I was right. We are all going to die.”

The ceiling shook above Silverbolt’s head. He had found himself underground after leaping into an access duct, looking for cover. His thoughts were not on the battle, but instead focused on a reflective surface he’d noticed on the wall. Silverbolt stared at himself. His body was still, but relaxed, and his eyes were wide. He raised his arms above his head and slowly brought them down, bending at the elbows and pressing his palms together in front of his face.

“I am a beautiful and unique snowflake,” he told himself. He closed his eyes and repeated the affirmation. He inhaled deeply and opened his eyes again as he exhaled.

“I am nature’s greatest miracle.”

“I am nature’s greatest miracle,” he repeated.

The Maximal’s acting-commander let his arms slump down beside his hips and shook his head. These affirmations did nothing for his confidence. Since the end of the Beast Wars all he wanted to do was live happily-ever-after with Blackarachnia. But instead he was turned into a Vehicon by Megatron, and that’s when he realised there was so much more to life than chasing around after a love interest. He still believed himself to be a hero at heart, but his time as Jetstorm had changed his outlook. He wanted to do the right thing, but he also wanted power and control.

With power and control, he could rid the world of demons and villains quickly and effectively without having his hands tied. With Cheetor out of the picture he had that control, but still lacked the power. The war with the humans could go on for ages at this rate and Silverbolt wanted as few Transformer casualties as possible.

He heard another explosion and prepared himself to get back up there and fight for his planet. He looked back into the makeshift mirror and chanted again: “I am doing the right thing. I am doing the right thing.”

Cheetor was hot and cold. Whatever he had been infected with, it burned his skin and froze his veins. His vision was blurry and dim and sounds echoed in his ears.

“Stay with me, Cheetor,” Botanica said, holding his hand. “I’ll have you back on your feet in no time.”

“What’s wrong with me?”

Botanica sighed. “While on our exploration mission, some of my crew were infected with a kind of virus—the same symptoms as yours.”

“Did it kill them?”

Botanica changed the subject. “I can only assume that we brought it back to Cybertron when we responded to Megatron’s false distress call.” She looked down at Cheetor’s glazed eyes. “I’m so sorry, Cheetor.”

“Not your fault,” he replied. “Can I be cured?”

“I believe so, yes,” Botanica assured. “I managed to develop a weak vaccine and I am sure it’ll purge the virus from your system.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yes, Cheetor.”

“Do you believe in psychic powers?”

“You mean, do I believe in precognition?” Botanica thought for a second. “I’m not sure. I suppose since the advent of Transwarp, it’s much easier to travel backwards and forwards through time. Maybe what we call psychic powers are somehow flashes of reality that are displaced by Transwarp drives?”

“Maybe.”

“Why do you ask, Cheetor?”

“Sometimes I get visions. Once while I was held prisoner by Tarantulas during the Beast Wars and again while I was in the process of becoming a second generation Transmetal. And recently too.”

“How recently?”

“I was with Rattrap before, in his lab, and I saw a message saying, ‘He’s going to kill you all.’”

“It could mean anything. Or maybe it means nothing.”

“So you don’t think Rattrap’s going to kill us all?”

Botanica laughed warmly. “No, I don’t think that at all. He’s head-over-wheels in love with me, why would he hurt me?”

“I suppose you’re right.”

There was silence for a while as Botanica checked some readings.

“So what are my chances?” Cheetor smiled.

“Well if you’d come straight here when you first noticed the symptoms like I asked,” Botanica frowned, “I’d say about eighty percent.”

Cheetor visibly relaxed.

“But,” continued Botanica, “since you’ve left it so long, I would say maybe twelve percent.”

“Oh.”

“Now try not to move, I’ll be back.”

“So much for bedside manner,” Cheetor muttered.

“I am a scientist, not a doctor,” Botanica replied curtly.

”Silverbolt, where have you been?”

“Looking for answers, Blackarachnia. Now, what’s the situation?”

A barrage of machine gun fire darted between the pair. “Well the humans haven’t gone away,” Blackarachnia said sarcastically.

“Hn.”

“Well anyway,” said Blackarachnia, “I have something that could turn the battle to our favour.” She handed a small vial to Silverbolt.

“What is it?”

“Something called Liquidchip. It was developed by Rattrap and it’s some kind of DNA reprogrammer.”

“How did you get hold of it?”

“Do you want to end this war, or do want to waste time having me explain all my actions to you?”

“How will it help us?”

“I don’t know for sure, but hopefully it will do enough damage to kill them, but we need to test it.”

“Say no more,” Silverbolt announced, morphing into beast mode. “Hand me the vial.”

Blackarachnia held up the bottle and Silverbolt snatched it with his beak. “Stand back, citizen!” he joked with a wink. (Humour was always his best cover for his lack of confidence.)

Blackarachnia folded her arms. “I’m going to get some more. If it works, then we’ll need a lot more than one vial.”

Silverbolt took to the air and Blackarachnia switched to beast mode and scuttled away into the shadows.

Above the battle, Silverbolt could make out Clampdown and his elite guard engaged in guerrilla fighting with the human soldiers. They all looked the same to him, but he did notice the absence of the two apparent leaders that first disembarked the Aurora. I am doing the right thing, he affirmed to himself. He swooped down and dug his talons into the shoulders of a random human, lifting him from the ground. The young man—Robert, his name—squirmed and cursed, hammering his rifle into the Maximal’s legs. Silverbolt nosedived towards the ground, pulling up at the last minute and dropping the man. Robert folded himself up into a ball and rolled over and over. By the time he stopped, Silverbolt had landed and splashed the contents of the vial over Robert’s face.

The silver liquid absorbed quickly into the human’s skin. Within seconds a painful tumour-like growth bubbled up on Robert’s left cheek. After a minute, his entire face was covered in small bulbous mounds. It was instant cancer. Robert wailed out in pain and foamed at the mouth. His immune system had been reprogrammed by the Liquidchip to attack his own cells and an excess of white blood cells oozed out of the surfaces of the air sacs within his lungs. He coughed white foam onto the ground and looked up at Silverbolt, tears in his eyes. Robert died seconds later, drowning in his own defence fluids.

“More,” Silverbolt said to himself. “We need more.”

Earth-date 2385. Swindle had been called to the Vault by Soundwave. The vast storage unit was housed within Warworld 28 and it contained something highly sought-after by the Decepticon communications officer.

“It can only be used once, I’m afraid,” Swindle told Soundwave. “We took it from the Khyaxians and Onslaught had me modify it for single-use-only.”

“Such an action should have been authorised by me first.”

“Well, if it hadn’t, it could have wiped us all out.”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

“So, who are you going to use it on?”

“That’s none of your business.”

Cheetor was no longer lying on a slab amongst the technorganic trees in Botanica’s orchard. He was engulfed in a vision, and was sat at the communications console on board the Axalon. He turned suddenly as a fireball rolled into the bridge. It dispersed to reveal Optimus Primal. Only it wasn’t Optimus Primal as Cheetor knew him. Optimus was in red armour and wore an Autobot symbol on his chest. He walked up to Cheetor and grabbed him by the throat. Optimus said: “He’s going to kill you all!”

Cheetor blinked and returned to his sickbed with a flinch of his entire body. “Botanica! Where are you?” His sight and hearing had worsened. He heard a muffled voice which sounded a lot like Botanica replying, “Hold on, I’ll be right there.”

His mind wandered again, but rushed home when he heard a crash. It sounded like equipment falling. “Are you okay, Botanica?”

No answer.

“Are you there?”

Cheetor heard a thud.

“Botanica?”

Cheetor lay still, unable to move. He couldn’t see anything, he couldn’t hear anything. He didn’t know if he was still with reality. Had the virus finally consumed him? Was he experiencing another vision?

Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, or maybe Botanica had just been murdered.

"Yo, boss-bird!”

Silverbolt lifted his communicator to his face. “Please don’t call me that, Rattrap, it makes me sound feminine.”

“Says the robot who wears black eye-liner.”

Silverbolt ignored the joke. “Have you learned anything?”

“Yep, and it ain’t good.”

“What is it?”

“The humans have developed some kind of secret weapon called the Pulse. It sounds like it’s based on an electromagnetic wave front that will destroy any and all electrical systems.”

“But surely they don’t have the power to use such a thing to wipe us all out?”

“Take your beak out of your ass for a second and have a think about why they attacked us right away.”

“A diversion?”

“While they locate a source to power the Pulse.”

“But how would they know what to look for?”

“They’ve hooked up Thunderjaw here in order to scan his mind, and they’ve decided on a suitable power source—the biggest one on the planet.”

“The Forge?”

“Yep, so get the fastest flyers there now to turn the slagging thing off before they get a chance to launch Technocide on us all.”

A thousand human souls clawed at the windows of the Axalon.

“Is this some kind of trick?” Megatron asked impatiently.

“No trick,” replied Optimus Primal. “Have you not yet worked out where we are?”

“The Matrix—we must be!”

“If you say so.”

“But why are there humans here? What is going on? You must know, Primal, you’re the one who’s been interfacing with the Oracle all this time!”

“We’re in a Matrix, yes, but not our Matrix.”

“I don’t understand.”

”Well, well, Blackarachnia.”

The Maximal turned to see Hardwired standing right behind her, arms folded.

“Still following me?”

“With good reason, what’s that you’ve got there?”

Blackarachnia hugged the container that housed all of Rattrap’s Liquidchip vials. “Grade A human killer. Silverbolt wants it.”

“Let me see,” Hardwired said, reaching out towards Blackarachnia.

“Any part of you that touches me,” Blackarachnia sneered, “you don’t get back.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt your prowess, sugar. I don’t doubt it at all.”

Blackarachnia raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Do you remember anything from before you were planted on the Axalon?”

“I was a protoform, how was I supposed to remember anything?”

“Ah,” said Hardwired, shaking his head. “That’s what everyone was supposed to believe. But the truth is: I created you.”

“That can’t be true.”

“It was a top-secret Maximal project, one that I was in charge of. Why do you think so many protoforms were loaded onto the Axalon and the Aurora?”

“To aid with exploration should Optimus or Cybershark have needed back up.”

“Wrong. The Axalon and Aurora missions were commissioned to search for the real Cybertron, and certain,” Hardwired paused to look for the right word, “agents were planted amongst the protoforms to report back to the Maximal Elders… And to hunt down and kill all the crew members of the two ships.”

Blackarachnia shook her head.

“It wasn’t because you were reprogrammed by Tarantulas that made you ‘evil’—he knew the truth—you were already evil from the get-go. Tarantulas merely disabled that programming so that you wouldn’t go on a murderous rampage and kill the Predacons as well.

“Ironic really that when the Maximals removed the shell program when you sided with them that they had actually returned you to your true evil self.”

“I refuse to believe that.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not a murderer.”

“I—”

A priority distress signal blip-blipped from both Blackarachnia’s and Hardwired’s communicators. “This is Maximal commander Silverbolt; I want all available fliers to head to the Forge immediately. Destroy the complex and any humans you might encounter.”

Obsidian was the first to arrive at the Forge. He and Stryka had long deduced the human’s strategy before the Maximals. He transformed into robot mode and landed discreetly by the open entrance. Two human soldiers stood guard. He waited.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he whispered into his communicator.

The two guards waited by the doors of the massive factory, their weapons trained on the roadway that led directly up to the entrance. Lieutenant Klein whispered to his comrade, “I think I hear something.”

There was a low frequency hum in the distance. It grew louder until the humans recognised it as the sound of heavy wheels.

“They’re here,” said Klein, firing his weapon. Bullets ricocheted off Stryka’s forward shielding.

“Should I fire too?” Klein’s comrade asked.

“Do you have a brain, or did an intelligent monkey just shit into your ear? Of course you should bloody fire!”

Using Stryka’s distraction, Obsidian flipped back into helicopter mode and flew into the Forge, scanning for his prey: Colonel Katrougalos and Sarah.

Silverbolt was waiting with Rattrap under the cover of the Aurora. Blackarachnia dashed over towards them, dodging bullets and missile fire.

“This is all I could find,” she said, breathless.

“Hey!” squealed Rattrap. “You’ve been in my lab!”

“Shut up, Rattrap.”

Silverbolt opened the container. “We need to deliver this stuff to every human on the planet, but how?”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Rattrap shouted. “No way are you using my stuff to kill humans!”

Silverbolt grabbed Rattrap by the throat. “Whose side are you on? Do you even realise the magnitude of the situation?”

“Silverbolt,” Blackarachnia said, trying to calm him.

The Maximal released Rattrap.

Rattrap snatched the vials into his arms and boarded the Aurora. “Leave it to me.”

Colonel Katrougalos wrestled with the Pulse array with his nervous, greasy fingers, hardwiring it to the main power conduit deep inside the Forge. “See what they’re done to our planet!” he seethed. “Covered it with metal plating and then some kind of attempt at returning organics to it. It’s a mess! Abstract technoimpressionism.”

“They’re inside,” Sarah said. “We’re running out of time.”

Obsidian burst into the room and shot Sarah down. There was a light as she left the body and Jonathon—her walk-in host—fell to the floor. “Stand down, human,” he said to the Colonel.

The man glanced back at the Vehicon and spat in his direction and then continued to work on the device. Obsidian unfolded into robot mode and hovered towards him. Katrougalos grunted and then rolled away from the device, smirking. The man stood up and held out his hand to Obsidian, he was holding a detonation device. “Nothing you can say or do is going to stop me from pressing this button and activating the Pulse.”

Obsidian raised his hands back and gestured his surrender, he settled down onto the ground in front of the human. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because this is our home and we want it back.”

“But you haven’t even given us the chance to offer it back to you. You just attacked with out provocation.”

“And you’re telling me you would have gladly handed it back to us?”

“We’re not the ones who destroyed your world; you’re chasing revenge on the wrong people.”

“You’re all Transformers, are you not?”

“Yes, but—”

“Well then, in my eyes, you’re all the same.”

Obsidian’s optics glowed with anger. “I’ve never known such prejudice or irrational preconceived judgement!”

“Then you’ve never known human nature!”

Katrougalos lowered his finger over the switch and a sinking realisation swept through Obsidian.

“This isn’t right,” the Transformer said. “We’re supposed to live forever.”

“Then it looks like we’ve reached the boundaries of infinity,” the human said, flicking the switch.

The Pulse was activated and forty-nine million, seven hundred and seventy-two thousand, eight hundred and thirty-one Transformers on the planet were killed.

Forty-nine million, seven hundred and seventy-two thousand, eight hundred and thirty-one Transformers were killed.

Blackarachnia and Silverbolt stared in disbelief as the hundreds of their fellow Maximals and Predacons shorted-out and dropped dead to the ground.

“We were too late,” Blackarachnia whispered.

Silverbolt bent over and clutched his head with his hands. “No!”

An object was thrown through the port window of the Aurora, followed by Rattrap. “Hey, the power just went—“ he saw the dead. “Oh.”

Silverbolt grabbed the object and transformed into technorganic condor mode. “Is it ready?”

“I reckon so,” Rattrap replied. “I mixed my trusty Catalyst program with the Liquidchip, if dispersed at the right altitude it’ll combine with the clouds and—"

Silverbolt had already launched, taking Blackarachnia with him.

The soldiers began firing upwards in an attempt to shoot Silverbolt out of the sky.

Silverbolt dodged the enemy fire until he was finally out of range. He released the catalysed Liquidchip into the atmosphere.

“It’s up to you now, Blackarachnia,” Silverbolt said. “Your electrical powers should charge the atmosphere enough to cause a storm.”

From the ground, Rattrap could see white-green bolts in the sky. The winds picked up and it began to rain. He could see globules of Liquidchip—his own invention, now used for genocide—fall to the ground. The nearby human soldiers cried out in pain.

“I hope you’ve done the right thing, Silverbolt.”