Fanfic -- The Soldier
Jul. 26th, 2007 03:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dunmurderinTitle: The Soldier
Originally Posted: October 20, 2006
Author: Dunmurderin
Character/Pairing: Tailgate
Word count: approximately 1043 words
Rating/Warning: G
Disclaimer/Author's Note: I do not own Transformers; story takes place on Cybertron roughly 1 million years ago, at some point after “Infancy,” “Childhood,” and “Adolescence.”
Note: "hand-hacks" is a term I made up (or more correctly, is a piece of hacker slang that I stole) for Cybertronians whose personality components didn't come from Vector Sigma but, for whatever reason, were built by someone else. Generally an individual. Wheeljack and the Dinobots would be an example of hand-hacks.
Group/Theme: 7 Ages of Man
The Soldier
The pounding of Shockwave’s anti-aircraft guns had started up again, regular as clockwork, on another training round. They provided a constant dull roar that shook their temporary headquarters even five levels down. Kup’s audial processors ached from the vibrations.
Could be worse, he thought. They could know where we are.
It amused him no end that their latest temporary headquarters was within a half dozen klicks of Shockwave’s AA batteries. It was risky, but a prime location for setting up a monitoring station to help cover Decepticon activity in Kalis.
But first, they needed Shockwave’s guns to stop firing. Moving around while he was taking pot-shots at holographic enemies was simply asking to end up part of a crater. It was down to a waiting game, which was fine. He’d made it this long by being able to hunker down, sit back and wait.
He glanced over at Pipes and Tailgate. He‘d chosen the two of them because they were small, quick and knew the area. That they could also sit still for longer than half a breem was an unexpected and happy bonus. Pipes was in vehicle mode, plugged into a portable recharge generator as he dozed. Tailgate, the scout on this job, sat near Pipes checking a laser rifle with the utmost care.
“I have to take you apart now,” Tailgate said, running his fingers over the rifle’s barrel. “It’s just to clean you; if we have to start shooting, we’ll need you to be at your best. Besides, you’ll feel better when it’s over. Is it alright?”
Kup frowned slightly, but didn’t say anything. That Tailgate talked to inanimate objects didn’t bother him -- the fact that the lad waited for answers, on the other hand, was worrisome.
The rifle apparently consented to being field stripped because Tailgate got to work, talking quietly to the rifle the entire time. Kup watched him out of habit, making sure Tailgate followed his training.
“Don’t worry,” Tailgate said, sounding amused as he removed the rifle’s power pack and set it aside. “I’m not going to accidentally shoot you, Kup. You trained me right.”
Kup shifted, turning so that he could face Tailgate. “What makes you think I was worried?” he asked.
“Same reason everybody worries about me,” Tailgate said. “You all think I’m crazy.”
Kup glanced at Pipes, who was still dozing. “He doesn’t.”
“He does,” Tailgate said. “But he doesn’t let it bother him the way the others do. He knows he can trust me.”
“Kid, if we couldn’t trust you, you wouldn’t be here,” Kup said. “You may be odd, but you’re not crazy.”
“That’s not what the others say,” Tailgate said, unscrewing the barrel and setting it in front of him. “Apparently, I give Springer the creeps.”
Kup frowned. “He told you that?”
“No,” Tailgate said. “Not to my face; I heard him talking to Hot Rod one night. They didn’t know I was there.” Tailgate looked up from the rifle, one hand petting the weapon’s stock, reassuringly. “I’m not mad; my feelings aren’t hurt. Please don’t tell them I said that, okay?”
“Things like that, they can tear a group apart,” Kup said. “I’ve seen it happen before, Tailgate. I should talk to Magnus about this.”
“Please don’t?” Tailgate said. “Kup, I scare them because they think I see ghosts. They see me talking to the bodies in Iacon and they think I’m talking to their spirits.”
“And you’re not?”
“No. Not like they think I do,” Tailgate said. “I mean, I’ve felt things before. Things that might be spirits who have lingered on past their destruction, but nothing I’d call a real ghost. But that’s not why I talk to the bodies.”
“Why do you?” Kup asked.
“You remember what you said to me? Right after you told me ‘Welcome aboard?’” Tailgate stared at him, expression almost painfully earnest. “Remember?”
“I remember,” Kup said. “But what’s that got to do with it?”
“You told me I was an experiment; that I’d been created to see if it was possible for you to hand-hack personality components, to do an end-run around Shockwave’s control of Vector Sigma.” Tailgate paused, staring at him with the optics of a zealot, albeit a peaceful one. “You told me that then you handed me a rifle and led me and the others out against that ammo dump. You told me that the chances were good that I wouldn’t be coming back from that raid and that if that happened, you’d remember me. You said that that was all you could give me. That that was all any soldier -- that anyone -- could expect. I listened to that Kup and I thought about it, after the raid and it made me realize something important.”
“What?” Kup asked, watching Tailgate carefully. He’d worked with hand-hacks before, back in the days before the Emancipation. There were rumors that they were quirkier than the pre-programmed, but he‘d never given it much credence -- not until now, at least. “What did you realize?”
“That we have to remember them,” Tailgate said. “We have to let them know that they haven’t been forgotten. They might not have been much in life but we can at least remember that they lived.”
Kup smiled, nodding. “Fair enough,” he said. “But that rifle was never alive, so why are you talking to it?”
Tailgate looked up, clearly surprised by the question. “Because it makes him feel better,” he said, looking at Kup as if the older mech had asked him why energon was pink. “And if he’s happy, he’ll be more likely to keep Pipes safe.”
“Pipes?” Kup asked.
“Yessir,” Tailgate said. “Pipes’s hands are clumsier than mine. He’s okay with firing, especially since I took off his trigger guard, but he’s not so good on maintenance yet. Not enough that I’m going to risk my life and his, that‘s for sure. So, I take care of his rifle.”
Kup leaned back against the wall, reaching for a ration cube. “Proves you’re not crazy,” he said, with a smile. “Not by my reckoning. When you finish that, plug in alongside Pipes, get some rest and a recharge. Understood?”
“Yessir,” Tailgate said, turning his attention back to the rifle. “Understood.”
Originally Posted: October 20, 2006
Author: Dunmurderin
Character/Pairing: Tailgate
Word count: approximately 1043 words
Rating/Warning: G
Disclaimer/Author's Note: I do not own Transformers; story takes place on Cybertron roughly 1 million years ago, at some point after “Infancy,” “Childhood,” and “Adolescence.”
Note: "hand-hacks" is a term I made up (or more correctly, is a piece of hacker slang that I stole) for Cybertronians whose personality components didn't come from Vector Sigma but, for whatever reason, were built by someone else. Generally an individual. Wheeljack and the Dinobots would be an example of hand-hacks.
Group/Theme: 7 Ages of Man
The pounding of Shockwave’s anti-aircraft guns had started up again, regular as clockwork, on another training round. They provided a constant dull roar that shook their temporary headquarters even five levels down. Kup’s audial processors ached from the vibrations.
Could be worse, he thought. They could know where we are.
It amused him no end that their latest temporary headquarters was within a half dozen klicks of Shockwave’s AA batteries. It was risky, but a prime location for setting up a monitoring station to help cover Decepticon activity in Kalis.
But first, they needed Shockwave’s guns to stop firing. Moving around while he was taking pot-shots at holographic enemies was simply asking to end up part of a crater. It was down to a waiting game, which was fine. He’d made it this long by being able to hunker down, sit back and wait.
He glanced over at Pipes and Tailgate. He‘d chosen the two of them because they were small, quick and knew the area. That they could also sit still for longer than half a breem was an unexpected and happy bonus. Pipes was in vehicle mode, plugged into a portable recharge generator as he dozed. Tailgate, the scout on this job, sat near Pipes checking a laser rifle with the utmost care.
“I have to take you apart now,” Tailgate said, running his fingers over the rifle’s barrel. “It’s just to clean you; if we have to start shooting, we’ll need you to be at your best. Besides, you’ll feel better when it’s over. Is it alright?”
Kup frowned slightly, but didn’t say anything. That Tailgate talked to inanimate objects didn’t bother him -- the fact that the lad waited for answers, on the other hand, was worrisome.
The rifle apparently consented to being field stripped because Tailgate got to work, talking quietly to the rifle the entire time. Kup watched him out of habit, making sure Tailgate followed his training.
“Don’t worry,” Tailgate said, sounding amused as he removed the rifle’s power pack and set it aside. “I’m not going to accidentally shoot you, Kup. You trained me right.”
Kup shifted, turning so that he could face Tailgate. “What makes you think I was worried?” he asked.
“Same reason everybody worries about me,” Tailgate said. “You all think I’m crazy.”
Kup glanced at Pipes, who was still dozing. “He doesn’t.”
“He does,” Tailgate said. “But he doesn’t let it bother him the way the others do. He knows he can trust me.”
“Kid, if we couldn’t trust you, you wouldn’t be here,” Kup said. “You may be odd, but you’re not crazy.”
“That’s not what the others say,” Tailgate said, unscrewing the barrel and setting it in front of him. “Apparently, I give Springer the creeps.”
Kup frowned. “He told you that?”
“No,” Tailgate said. “Not to my face; I heard him talking to Hot Rod one night. They didn’t know I was there.” Tailgate looked up from the rifle, one hand petting the weapon’s stock, reassuringly. “I’m not mad; my feelings aren’t hurt. Please don’t tell them I said that, okay?”
“Things like that, they can tear a group apart,” Kup said. “I’ve seen it happen before, Tailgate. I should talk to Magnus about this.”
“Please don’t?” Tailgate said. “Kup, I scare them because they think I see ghosts. They see me talking to the bodies in Iacon and they think I’m talking to their spirits.”
“And you’re not?”
“No. Not like they think I do,” Tailgate said. “I mean, I’ve felt things before. Things that might be spirits who have lingered on past their destruction, but nothing I’d call a real ghost. But that’s not why I talk to the bodies.”
“Why do you?” Kup asked.
“You remember what you said to me? Right after you told me ‘Welcome aboard?’” Tailgate stared at him, expression almost painfully earnest. “Remember?”
“I remember,” Kup said. “But what’s that got to do with it?”
“You told me I was an experiment; that I’d been created to see if it was possible for you to hand-hack personality components, to do an end-run around Shockwave’s control of Vector Sigma.” Tailgate paused, staring at him with the optics of a zealot, albeit a peaceful one. “You told me that then you handed me a rifle and led me and the others out against that ammo dump. You told me that the chances were good that I wouldn’t be coming back from that raid and that if that happened, you’d remember me. You said that that was all you could give me. That that was all any soldier -- that anyone -- could expect. I listened to that Kup and I thought about it, after the raid and it made me realize something important.”
“What?” Kup asked, watching Tailgate carefully. He’d worked with hand-hacks before, back in the days before the Emancipation. There were rumors that they were quirkier than the pre-programmed, but he‘d never given it much credence -- not until now, at least. “What did you realize?”
“That we have to remember them,” Tailgate said. “We have to let them know that they haven’t been forgotten. They might not have been much in life but we can at least remember that they lived.”
Kup smiled, nodding. “Fair enough,” he said. “But that rifle was never alive, so why are you talking to it?”
Tailgate looked up, clearly surprised by the question. “Because it makes him feel better,” he said, looking at Kup as if the older mech had asked him why energon was pink. “And if he’s happy, he’ll be more likely to keep Pipes safe.”
“Pipes?” Kup asked.
“Yessir,” Tailgate said. “Pipes’s hands are clumsier than mine. He’s okay with firing, especially since I took off his trigger guard, but he’s not so good on maintenance yet. Not enough that I’m going to risk my life and his, that‘s for sure. So, I take care of his rifle.”
Kup leaned back against the wall, reaching for a ration cube. “Proves you’re not crazy,” he said, with a smile. “Not by my reckoning. When you finish that, plug in alongside Pipes, get some rest and a recharge. Understood?”
“Yessir,” Tailgate said, turning his attention back to the rifle. “Understood.”
