Jun. 30th, 2011 11:22 am
[DoTM Drabble] Godhood
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justboltsDoTM Drabble, beware SPOILERS. Set during the movie.
______
'We were gods once.'
The words echo in his processor as he leads his people to the ship the humans seek to banish them in. Behind him, through the comms and woven into the roar of their engines, Bumblebee leads a song, a warriors' chant. He wishes Ironhide a safe journey to the Well of AllSparks and entreats him to keep the way clear for them to follow. A farewell and acknowledgement of the upcoming battle in one.
The others add their voices. Optimus does not. He isn't ready.
'We were gods once.'
Gods of what? he shouts within the familiar, steady hum of his own internal processes. Of Cybertron? How poorly they had served their sad, blighted homeworld if that was the case. Of 'lesser beings', as Megatron was so fond of calling them?
All too soon they are on the final approach to the ship. Optimus's sensors can already pick up several familiar signals. Simmons. Mearing. Epps.
Sam.
You were the last I expected to hear my brother's sentiment from, dear mentor.
Bumblebee sends him a sad inquiry without losing his place in the song.
"(Yes, my friend, Sam as well.)"
The upcoming deception weighs heavily on him. It will hurt to lie to Sam, their friend on this world from the start, who has proven his trustworthiness time and again. It will be more painful still to leave even for a moment, knowing the human deaths it will result in. But the risk of a Decepticon or Decepticon-allied human overhearing the plan is too strong -- the tactical advantage to be gained by allowing the Decepticons to think them gone too significant.
Forgive me.
They reach the launch platform and the moment he is slow enough and close enough to allow it, hands are patting his hood, his wheel wells, his cab. The humans mutter sympathies and reluctant goodbyes; some, retired NEST soldiers, he knows well and fought beside in the past; others he has met during routine inspections of the ship construction site, heard spoken of with backhanded fondness by the Wreckers.
Sam stands back, one arm gripping the other across his chest, face twisted. Epps stands with him, frowning. Their grief and frustration is tangible, another burden on his spark, yet not one he begrudges.
Friends, he thinks, not servants or subjects. Love earned and given freely. What a poor substitute, godliness.
He unfolds and rises to his feet, and allows himself a moment to look back the way they came. He sees the incomplete line of his companions and anguish stabs him, sharply, before he can throttle it down inside himself again. Beyond them, the hills rise and fall in gentle rolls, glimpses of human settlement flashing between them. Calm, alien, beautiful, yet untouched by the battle brewing.
Home, his processor says, and home, his spark agrees.
He turns away and walks forward.
______
'We were gods once.'
The words echo in his processor as he leads his people to the ship the humans seek to banish them in. Behind him, through the comms and woven into the roar of their engines, Bumblebee leads a song, a warriors' chant. He wishes Ironhide a safe journey to the Well of AllSparks and entreats him to keep the way clear for them to follow. A farewell and acknowledgement of the upcoming battle in one.
The others add their voices. Optimus does not. He isn't ready.
'We were gods once.'
Gods of what? he shouts within the familiar, steady hum of his own internal processes. Of Cybertron? How poorly they had served their sad, blighted homeworld if that was the case. Of 'lesser beings', as Megatron was so fond of calling them?
All too soon they are on the final approach to the ship. Optimus's sensors can already pick up several familiar signals. Simmons. Mearing. Epps.
Sam.
You were the last I expected to hear my brother's sentiment from, dear mentor.
Bumblebee sends him a sad inquiry without losing his place in the song.
"(Yes, my friend, Sam as well.)"
The upcoming deception weighs heavily on him. It will hurt to lie to Sam, their friend on this world from the start, who has proven his trustworthiness time and again. It will be more painful still to leave even for a moment, knowing the human deaths it will result in. But the risk of a Decepticon or Decepticon-allied human overhearing the plan is too strong -- the tactical advantage to be gained by allowing the Decepticons to think them gone too significant.
Forgive me.
They reach the launch platform and the moment he is slow enough and close enough to allow it, hands are patting his hood, his wheel wells, his cab. The humans mutter sympathies and reluctant goodbyes; some, retired NEST soldiers, he knows well and fought beside in the past; others he has met during routine inspections of the ship construction site, heard spoken of with backhanded fondness by the Wreckers.
Sam stands back, one arm gripping the other across his chest, face twisted. Epps stands with him, frowning. Their grief and frustration is tangible, another burden on his spark, yet not one he begrudges.
Friends, he thinks, not servants or subjects. Love earned and given freely. What a poor substitute, godliness.
He unfolds and rises to his feet, and allows himself a moment to look back the way they came. He sees the incomplete line of his companions and anguish stabs him, sharply, before he can throttle it down inside himself again. Beyond them, the hills rise and fall in gentle rolls, glimpses of human settlement flashing between them. Calm, alien, beautiful, yet untouched by the battle brewing.
Home, his processor says, and home, his spark agrees.
He turns away and walks forward.