Post by grahamthomson on Apr 12, 2010 15:10:20 GMT
(Originally published in Hubris #13 - www.the-hub.co.uk/hubris/hubris-13/)
"Mind R/W"
Written by Graham Thomson
Nothing compared to dawn on Earth; it was Hound’s favourite moment.
He lifted his face to the emerging Sun and let its warming rays carelessly paint yellow across his smile. He closed his eyes and listened. The forest, a thick green cloak tied around the base of Mount Saint Hilary, came alive in Hound’s ears. Birds and insects chirped harmoniously, and all manner of small animals darted through the undergrowth. Hound concentrated a little more to hear the wind through the trees.
Earth was so alien, so wonderful.
Hound opened his eyes again, letting the morning light flood his sensors. He welcomed the input, just as the forest had welcomed him. He’d kept to robot mode, stepped carefully. The forest floor, moist and cool, felt comfortable under his feet.
It was his sanctuary away from the war.
“There you are,” Mirage said, startling Hound.
Hound turned. “Be careful where you tread,” he warned. “It’s fragile here.”
“Please,” said Mirage. “These brittle structures are an annoyance and nothing more.”
“They’re called trees.”
Mirage didn’t seem to appreciate the nature lesson. “Are you done yet?”
Hound spread his arms open, as if to embrace the fresh air. “Not by a long shot,” he smiled.
“I hate it when you get like this.”
“Oh come on, Mirage,” Hound said. He sounded hurt. “Earth is such a wonderful place, I don’t know why you don’t spend more time out here.”
“But I do,” Mirage said. “That’s the point. I’m supposed to be guarding you.”
Hound laughed. “I don’t need you to.”
“Yes, but Trailbreaker wants me to. And only because he wants you to map the entire area that surrounds the Ark.”
“He is right,” Hound said. “This forest would provide the Decepticons with more than enough cover to mount a stealth offensive.”
“Then burn it down, and don’t give them the opportunity,” Mirage said, a little too offhandedly.
Mirage’s attitude dulled the sunshine.
“This area is alive, Mirage!” Hound said. “You just need more of an open mind.”
Mirage simply shook his head at Hound’s naivety. He turned away from his comrade and smoothly aimed his hunting rifle into the sky above the trees. He looked back at Hound. “You know, it is possible to be too open-minded.”
“The humans call it ‘Mother Nature’,” Hound said, ignoring Mirage’s cynicism. “She’s here, Mirage, with open arms.”
“That’s it,” Mirage said, having lost patience. “I’m out of here.”
“Fine,” said Hound. “Your presence is upsetting.”
“I had no idea you were so sensitive.”
“Not me, the Earth creatures.”
“Fine,” Mirage mimicked. “I’m getting back to the nearest road. Somewhere flat and smooth that I can lay all four tyres down on. The humans have these white lines on them to keep them away from each other, the only thing on this planet that makes any sense.”
Mirage marched away, disappearing into the shadows of the trees. But Hound didn’t seem to care. He’d already begun scanning and cataloguing all that he saw. “Observe everything, remember even more,” the Autobot enthusiastically said to himself.
Dusk was upon the forest before Hound even realised how long he’d been there. He checked his communicator, there was nothing from Mirage; no impatient reminder to return to base, no abrasive comment or obnoxious complaint.
As Hound tracked back on himself, walking towards the road, he noticed something metallic glinting in the twilight. “Mirage?” he called out. “Are you there?”
Reacting quickly, Hound snatched the weapon from the storage compartment in his thigh and aimed it at the imposing figure that stood in his way.
***
Trailbreaker sat at the console of his interface unit. He was plugged into the Ark’s mainframe computer, analysing Hound’s field reports.
The artificial light from the ceiling fittings bounced across the licorice sheen of Trailbreaker’s armour. It had been three weeks since he noticed the sharp decline in quality of Hound’s work.
On nights like this, before recharging, he would retire to his quarters to pour over Hound’s reports. As the Autobots’ defence strategist it was Trailbreaker’s duty to protect the Ark. It was a role he took seriously.
Hound’s records, usually so fastidious and water-tight, became incomplete, sometimes nonsensical. The activity logs betrayed an increasingly erratic timetable.
Trailbreaker was concerned that Hound wasn’t taking his job seriously. The other Autobots, Mirage in particular, thought Hound a daydreamer, too enthralled by Earth and her wonders. It pained Trailbreaker to think this way. He was Hound’s friend, after all. But this was war. The Decepticons were out there, and Trailbreaker had promised to keep them out.
A decision was made and Trailbreaker disconnected himself from his console. He knew he had to reprimand Hound, call him out on his behaviour. It was a confrontation he wasn’t one bit looking forward to.
***
Trailbreaker had found Hound outside one of the Ark’s charging pods. Recharges were strictly rationed by Prowl. The Autobots’ fuel shortage was a worse threat than the Decepticons, he had lectured. The charging pods had been locked, with each each Autobot given a unique access code and a limited time window in which to refuel.Hope was abound that Jazz’s dealings with a human called Blackrock would lead to a share in his rich stockpiles with the Autobots. But until then, Prowl’s stringent regime was law.
“Problem?” Trailbreaker said to Hound.
Hound didn’t respond, not immediately. He was distracted. “Kind of,” he eventually admitted.
“What’s up?”
Hound liked Trailbreaker. He was always on form, always there with a bad joke or dry comment to lighten the mood. There was always that one about the pigeonoids. He felt embarrassed to mention anything.
“I... I’ve forgotten my access code,” Hound said quietly. It was like his usually bright personality had faded.
“What do you mean?”
“I tried inputting it just now, and my mind went, well, blank.”
“Odd,” Trailbreaker said. “Seen Ratchet?”
“No, no,” said Hound. “I’m sure it’s just a glitch. Something not firing up there.” He forced a smile.
Trailbreaker looked at Hound. He seemed fragile. Distant. All thoughts of what he’d planned to say about his work evaporated. The black Autobot, much taller and stockier than Hound, entered his own access code on the charging pod’s control panel.
“Go ahead,” Trailbreaker offered.
“But you’ll miss your ration,” Hound said, taken back by the generosity of the gesture. Trailbreaker, one of the more energy inefficient Autobots, needed the fuel more than him.
Trailbreaker smiled, ushering Hound into the pod. “Pay it no mind.”
***
Something in the forest had changed. It was as though Mother Nature was absent. Hound had trouble remembering the myriad species of birds and animals. He didn’t feel like getting to know them as he did before. Now they were just noise. The feeling was unsettling.
He pushed his way through the trees. Had he already mapped this area? He didn’t recognise where he was, but his maps had already been flagged. He glanced from left to right. Where was Mirage?
Arriving at the edge of a small pool, Hound stopped and set down his equipment. Three pied-billed grebes swam past, their heads held high eyeing the alien robot with suspicion. The middle grebe started to flap its wings with sudden urgency.
The flutter of feathers startled Hound. Tripping over his equipment, he staggered away from the pool and back through the trees without looking back.
By the time Mirage found him, Hound was sat on the roadside, hugging his knees. His feet rested on the painted white lines on the edge of the road.
Mirage asked, “You okay?”
Hound looked up at Mirage. His face was tight with agitation. “Fine,” he said.
“Normally I have to drag you out of there,” Mirage said, gesturing to the thick grove of trees that huddled by the roadside.
Hound stood sharply. He dusted the moss from his arms. “Leave it,” he said, almost growling. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”
***
“You shouldn’t be in here,” Ratchet told Trailbreaker.
The Ark’s med-bay, sterile and cold, was usually out of bounds to all Autobots apart from Ratchet and his patients. It was a question of quarantine.
“Sorry,” said Trailbreaker. “I just need a
quick—”
“An Autobot’s windscreen is dirtier than the rim of an exhaust port,” Ratchet said, happy to interrupt.
“What do you mean?”
“Microbes!” Ratchet said. “This planet is riddled with them. Tiny organisms, germs.”
“Oh.”
“They’re the dominant species on this planet,” Ratchet explained.
“I thought the humans were.”
Ratchet scoffed.
Trailbreaker shrugged his shoulders. “How’s Hound?”
Ratchet turned to Trailbreaker. “This is Sunstreaker,” he said dryly, pointing at the deactivated robot lying on his slab.
“No, I mean, how’s Hound, generally?”
“Fine, as far as I know.”
“Nothing unusual?”
“He’s at full operational status, and he’s not been to see me about anything recently.”
“Okay.”
“Not that I’d have the time for non-emergency check-ups.” He pointed at Sunstreaker again. “This sorry bastard is my top priority right now.”
Trailbreaker shook his head at Ratchet and turned away. He was rarely able to cope with Ratchet’s back talk.
As Trailbreaker left the med-bay, Ratchet returned to his work without a second thought.
***
Trailbreaker spent hours looking for Hound on board the Ark.
According to Ironhide’s logs, the errant Autobot was assuredly onboard or he wasn’t sitting on trithyllium-steel alloy.
At least half of the Autobots’ starship had been declared out of bounds by Prowl. Access doors and hatches had been sealed and power cut off. It was all part of his energy saving measures. It made sense, but it didn’t do much for morale.
Sometimes an Autobot just wanted to be alone.
Every so often, Trailbreaker would stop. He would activate his forcefield generator, but modify it to emit a short-burst pulse tuned to the molecular resonance of energon. In other words, it acted like a short range radar, and Trailbreaker could use it to see through walls.
It was how he found Hound, alone in a disused engine room.
“Hound?” Trailbreaker asked. His voice, deep but kind, echoed into the darkened room.
He heard movement, a jolt and then frantic scuffling. It sounded like something being hurriedly packed away.
“Trailbreaker?”
“What are you doing?” Trailbreaker asked.
Hound emerged from the shadows, sliding shut an access panel on the side of his head. “Nothing. Just wanted some time alone.”
“Brawn refusing an oil change again?” Trailbreaker joked, trying to lighten the room.
“Yeah!” Hound laughed. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
“Actually,” Trailbreaker said. “I am worried. About you.”
“Me?”
Trailbreaker’s voice faltered. He hated pulling rank. “This mission to map the Ark’s surrounding areas,” he began. “Your work isn’t... up to your usual high standards.”
“Oh.”
“I mean, don’t take it personally, I just... expected better,” Trailbreaker’s tone was erratic.
“When do you think we’ll go home?” Hound asked.
Trailbreaker wondered if the question was a diversion, but something in Hound’s voice told him it wasn’t.
“I miss Cybertron,” Hound said.
“But you love it here!” said Trailbreaker. “Of all of us, you’re the one who’s embraced this new world the most. You’re out of the Ark more than in it.”
Hound let his chin dip into his chest. “I don’t know any more.”
“Your mission is important,” Trailbreaker said, trying his best to tow the line between officer and friend. “We need to defend the Ark as best we can.”
Hound approached Trailbreaker and looked up. There was fear in his voice as he pleaded: “Don’t make me go back out there.”
“What’s out there?” Trailbreaker asked. “You love it out there. And Mirage is on hand to back you up.”
Hound remained silent.
“Isn’t he?”
“Yes,” said Hound, not wanting to get Mirage involved. “He’s always with me.”
“The quicker we complete the mission, the quicker we can win this war,” urged Trailbreaker. “And go home.”
Silence.
“Please?”
***
The forest tormented Hound. Taking steps as wide and fast as his hip’s hydraulics would allow, he strode between the trees. Branches were like clawed arms, snatching at him as he went. Once welcoming, Mother Nature had turned on Hound and offered only nightmares.
The Autobot paced circles, disorientated. His mind spun inside his head. Nothing made sense any more. The sky wasn’t blue any more, all Hound could see was a pitch-dark veil hanging over him.
He felt fingers on his legs, he could hear the Earth’s animals creeping behind him, ready to pounce.
The cold wind was a colder voice. It urged him deeper into the forest, compelled him to obey.
Hound held his hand up to his face and reeled backwards to the sight of his fingers melting away. His fear pulled away the tethers to his sanity. He was frightening himself.
He wanted to call for Mirage. He wanted to kill Mirage. He wouldn’t kill Mirage.
Hound clutched his head with both hands. “I am not a killer!” he called out. And then he collapsed to the ground.
***
It was raining. Mirage skidded across the mud, arms wide to help his balance. He called Hound’s name again. The rain, heavier now, crept into his joints and started shorting his circuitry. Mirage winced.
“Hound!”
The rain fell in sheets, but Mirage kept going. This area of the forest was the last to be recorded, Hound was nowhere else.
With fogged optics and mud on his face Mirage pressed on, all sensors online scanning all frequencies.
He almost tripped on Hound’s body. The dark green armoured foetus, perfectly coloured to hide in the mud, was still and lifeless. Mirage dropped to his knees and rolled Hound onto his back. He was dead, he was sure.
Mirage activated his radio. “Fix on my position,” he shouted through the rain. “Bring a MARB.”
***
Optimus Prime, flanked by Prowl and Ratchet, leaned over the desk, palms spread across its surface. His faceplate guarded his emotions.
Opposite, Trailbreaker and Mirage stood. They glared at Ratchet.
Prowl knew how it was going to turn out.
“Hound’s death,” Optimus said, his tone low and grave. “Any explanations?”
“Well what’s the medical opinion?” Mirage sneered at Ratchet.
Optimus Prime moved away from the desk, letting Ratchet make his report.
“By the time you got him to me there was nothing I could do,” Ratchet said. “His mind had shut down. Deep-rooted code had been deleted.”
“Deleted?” said Trailbreaker. “How?”
“I can’t answer that,” Ratchet said. “But according to the access logs there were two people accessing his mind. I think it was Decepticon.”
Prowl stepped into the conversation. “We can all guess who. It appears he can’t just read minds, he can write to them as well.”
Prowl’s theory hung in the air and was absorbed by the five Autobots. It sent a cold surge down their spines.
“You said two people,” Mirage said.
“According to the access logs, it was Hound who was deleting his own memory files.”
“Impossible!”
Ratchet handed Mirage a datapad. “It’s all there,” he explained. “Our minds are so well protected, so shielded that any attempts to access them are recorded in the access logs. It’s like a breadcrumb trail.”
Mirage stared at the datapad, scrolling through Ratchet’s post-mortem findings. He was magnetised to the information.
“We’ve lost a valuable asset,” Prowl said.
Trailbreaker broke. “We’ve lost a friend!” he sneered.
Optimus Prime tried to diffuse the situation. “We’ve called you both in here to try to find out how this happened to Hound.”
Prowl interrupted. “If the Decepticons can get to us on our own territory—”
“Prowl,” Optimus said calmly, raising his hand.
As Mirage continued to study Ratchet’s data, Trailbreaker made his report. “I had Hound mapping the area around the Ark, detailing the environment and terrain to find any spots the Decepticons might use. I assigned Mirage to stay with him, to keep watch.”
Mirage was too engrossed to take his cue.
“Mirage!” Optimus Prime shouted, slamming his fist on the desk. He was raw. The four other Autobots snapped to attention.
“I did keep watch,” Mirage affirmed. “It’s just, the forest was too... and Hound was too...”
Trailbreaker grabbed Mirage by the shoulder, he squeezed his hand aggressively. Mirage dropped the datapad. “This was your fault!” Trailbreaker bellowed.
“As much as it was yours,” Mirage countered, wrestling himself free. “It was your blasted mission! Look at me know and tell me you didn’t push him. What was more important to you?”
Trailbreaker threw a punch into Mirage’s chest, knocking him to the ground. He stepped back to kick him.
Prowl leapt over the desk and slid between the two Autobots. “Enough!” he commanded. He helped Mirage to his feet and picked up the datapad, handing it back to him.
Optimus Prime folded his arms.
“If Hound could see you now,” Ratchet said.
Trailbreaker turned to Mirage. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too,” Mirage replied before returning his attention back to the datapad.
“This is getting nowhere,” said Optimus. “No one is to blame for Hound’s death. We all take the same risk in the field.”
“Yes, but Hound didn’t deserved this,” Trailbreak said, his voice cracking. “It was just a reconnaissance mission.”
“Unfortunately, it shows you just what we’re up against,” Prowl said. He looked up at Optimus Prime.
“According to this,” Mirage said, regaining composure and referring to the datapad, “The external viral code reads like a standard Decepticon reprogramming subroutine. They used to use similar back on Cybertron to create double agents.”
Prowl nodded.
“Only back then,” Mirage continued, “they had to physically input the data. I have hundreds of counter-intelligence reports on it.”
“But now they’ve developed a way to remotely upload their code?” Ratchet surmised.
“Looks that way,” Mirage said.
“If that’s true...” Trailbreaker shook his head, afraid to finish his own sentence.
“The Decepticons really can attack us on our own territory,” Mirage said.
“And what about Hound’s part in this?”
“He was deliberately deleting the rogue files, trying to fight off the viral code. It was destroying his mind, piece by piece, destroying himself in the process.”
“He wouldn’t have known what he was doing,” Ratchet said. “If the polluting code was over-writing anything important, he would have deleted code that was essential to his own survival.”
“Whatever way you look at it,” Trailbreaker said remorsefully, “Hound was fighting it until the end. They took away everything that made him who he was, and he was still brave enough to fight them, to stop them from making him a double agent.”
“And you can’t not admire him for that,” Mirage said.
Optimus Prime moved away from the desk and made for the door.
“Prime, where are you going?” Prowl asked.
“To tell the others about Hound. Prowl, I trust you’ve already thought of a way to proceed.”
***
Optimus Prime made his way through the Ark’s corridors. The lights above, economically dim, did nothing to alleviate his stress. How could he tell the others about Hound?
At least with Sunstreaker, there was hope he would eventually be repaired by Ratchet, brought back to life in the end.
But Hound was dead, not deactivated. His brain had been destroyed. His mind had been annihilated. How would the others cope? How would he?
Optimus Prime stopped where he stood. He lifted his arm, activated his radio and spoke with renewed mettle. “Wheeljack, come in.”
“Yes, Prime.”
“Take me to the Last Resort.”
***
In the deepest bowels of the Ark, Optimus Prime and Wheeljack walked silently through the dark labyrinth that led them away from all authorised areas.
Wheeljack inputted encrypted code after encrypted code into every locked door they faced.
Eventually, after many unspoken hours, they reached the Last Resort.
“Wait here,” Wheeljack said. “I don’t want you to see this.”
Optimus nodded.
With one final lock to contend with Wheeljack opened to the armoured door to a vault that had been kept secret for over four million years.
The vault was small, claustrophobic. The walls were covered in small doors, each the size of Wheeljack’s hand. Each door had a name etched upon it, including his own. He shuddered at the thought of what he was doing, of what the mind bank contained.
Wheeljack knelt down and dragged his finger down the surface of the doors. Underneath the door marked “Hoist” was a door marked “Hound”.
***
EPILOGUE
The sun had yet to rise.
Trailbreaker and Mirage stood at the edge of the forest as Hound cautiously walked through the bushes. The forest was still quiet, only just starting to wake.
Hound stopped. He lifted his head and relaxed his arms. As the sun began to rise and the sky turned a warm yellow, Hound opened himself to Mother Nature, experiencing the wonders of Earth for the very first time. Once again.
The promise of new adventure flooded his senses and buoyed his unspoiled mind. Hound felt alive and magnificent.
Trailbreaker turned to Mirage and smiled proudly.
Hound started laughing. An uncontrollable, unabashed glee rushed through his body. Life, here and now, was unadulterated.
Trailbreaker quietly asked Mirage: “Why did we do this so early in the morning? Why now?”
Mirage rested his hand on Trailbreaker’s shoulder. “Because dawn is his favourite moment.”
The end
"Mind R/W"
Written by Graham Thomson
Nothing compared to dawn on Earth; it was Hound’s favourite moment.
He lifted his face to the emerging Sun and let its warming rays carelessly paint yellow across his smile. He closed his eyes and listened. The forest, a thick green cloak tied around the base of Mount Saint Hilary, came alive in Hound’s ears. Birds and insects chirped harmoniously, and all manner of small animals darted through the undergrowth. Hound concentrated a little more to hear the wind through the trees.
Earth was so alien, so wonderful.
Hound opened his eyes again, letting the morning light flood his sensors. He welcomed the input, just as the forest had welcomed him. He’d kept to robot mode, stepped carefully. The forest floor, moist and cool, felt comfortable under his feet.
It was his sanctuary away from the war.
“There you are,” Mirage said, startling Hound.
Hound turned. “Be careful where you tread,” he warned. “It’s fragile here.”
“Please,” said Mirage. “These brittle structures are an annoyance and nothing more.”
“They’re called trees.”
Mirage didn’t seem to appreciate the nature lesson. “Are you done yet?”
Hound spread his arms open, as if to embrace the fresh air. “Not by a long shot,” he smiled.
“I hate it when you get like this.”
“Oh come on, Mirage,” Hound said. He sounded hurt. “Earth is such a wonderful place, I don’t know why you don’t spend more time out here.”
“But I do,” Mirage said. “That’s the point. I’m supposed to be guarding you.”
Hound laughed. “I don’t need you to.”
“Yes, but Trailbreaker wants me to. And only because he wants you to map the entire area that surrounds the Ark.”
“He is right,” Hound said. “This forest would provide the Decepticons with more than enough cover to mount a stealth offensive.”
“Then burn it down, and don’t give them the opportunity,” Mirage said, a little too offhandedly.
Mirage’s attitude dulled the sunshine.
“This area is alive, Mirage!” Hound said. “You just need more of an open mind.”
Mirage simply shook his head at Hound’s naivety. He turned away from his comrade and smoothly aimed his hunting rifle into the sky above the trees. He looked back at Hound. “You know, it is possible to be too open-minded.”
“The humans call it ‘Mother Nature’,” Hound said, ignoring Mirage’s cynicism. “She’s here, Mirage, with open arms.”
“That’s it,” Mirage said, having lost patience. “I’m out of here.”
“Fine,” said Hound. “Your presence is upsetting.”
“I had no idea you were so sensitive.”
“Not me, the Earth creatures.”
“Fine,” Mirage mimicked. “I’m getting back to the nearest road. Somewhere flat and smooth that I can lay all four tyres down on. The humans have these white lines on them to keep them away from each other, the only thing on this planet that makes any sense.”
Mirage marched away, disappearing into the shadows of the trees. But Hound didn’t seem to care. He’d already begun scanning and cataloguing all that he saw. “Observe everything, remember even more,” the Autobot enthusiastically said to himself.
Dusk was upon the forest before Hound even realised how long he’d been there. He checked his communicator, there was nothing from Mirage; no impatient reminder to return to base, no abrasive comment or obnoxious complaint.
As Hound tracked back on himself, walking towards the road, he noticed something metallic glinting in the twilight. “Mirage?” he called out. “Are you there?”
Reacting quickly, Hound snatched the weapon from the storage compartment in his thigh and aimed it at the imposing figure that stood in his way.
***
Trailbreaker sat at the console of his interface unit. He was plugged into the Ark’s mainframe computer, analysing Hound’s field reports.
The artificial light from the ceiling fittings bounced across the licorice sheen of Trailbreaker’s armour. It had been three weeks since he noticed the sharp decline in quality of Hound’s work.
On nights like this, before recharging, he would retire to his quarters to pour over Hound’s reports. As the Autobots’ defence strategist it was Trailbreaker’s duty to protect the Ark. It was a role he took seriously.
Hound’s records, usually so fastidious and water-tight, became incomplete, sometimes nonsensical. The activity logs betrayed an increasingly erratic timetable.
Trailbreaker was concerned that Hound wasn’t taking his job seriously. The other Autobots, Mirage in particular, thought Hound a daydreamer, too enthralled by Earth and her wonders. It pained Trailbreaker to think this way. He was Hound’s friend, after all. But this was war. The Decepticons were out there, and Trailbreaker had promised to keep them out.
A decision was made and Trailbreaker disconnected himself from his console. He knew he had to reprimand Hound, call him out on his behaviour. It was a confrontation he wasn’t one bit looking forward to.
***
Trailbreaker had found Hound outside one of the Ark’s charging pods. Recharges were strictly rationed by Prowl. The Autobots’ fuel shortage was a worse threat than the Decepticons, he had lectured. The charging pods had been locked, with each each Autobot given a unique access code and a limited time window in which to refuel.Hope was abound that Jazz’s dealings with a human called Blackrock would lead to a share in his rich stockpiles with the Autobots. But until then, Prowl’s stringent regime was law.
“Problem?” Trailbreaker said to Hound.
Hound didn’t respond, not immediately. He was distracted. “Kind of,” he eventually admitted.
“What’s up?”
Hound liked Trailbreaker. He was always on form, always there with a bad joke or dry comment to lighten the mood. There was always that one about the pigeonoids. He felt embarrassed to mention anything.
“I... I’ve forgotten my access code,” Hound said quietly. It was like his usually bright personality had faded.
“What do you mean?”
“I tried inputting it just now, and my mind went, well, blank.”
“Odd,” Trailbreaker said. “Seen Ratchet?”
“No, no,” said Hound. “I’m sure it’s just a glitch. Something not firing up there.” He forced a smile.
Trailbreaker looked at Hound. He seemed fragile. Distant. All thoughts of what he’d planned to say about his work evaporated. The black Autobot, much taller and stockier than Hound, entered his own access code on the charging pod’s control panel.
“Go ahead,” Trailbreaker offered.
“But you’ll miss your ration,” Hound said, taken back by the generosity of the gesture. Trailbreaker, one of the more energy inefficient Autobots, needed the fuel more than him.
Trailbreaker smiled, ushering Hound into the pod. “Pay it no mind.”
***
Something in the forest had changed. It was as though Mother Nature was absent. Hound had trouble remembering the myriad species of birds and animals. He didn’t feel like getting to know them as he did before. Now they were just noise. The feeling was unsettling.
He pushed his way through the trees. Had he already mapped this area? He didn’t recognise where he was, but his maps had already been flagged. He glanced from left to right. Where was Mirage?
Arriving at the edge of a small pool, Hound stopped and set down his equipment. Three pied-billed grebes swam past, their heads held high eyeing the alien robot with suspicion. The middle grebe started to flap its wings with sudden urgency.
The flutter of feathers startled Hound. Tripping over his equipment, he staggered away from the pool and back through the trees without looking back.
By the time Mirage found him, Hound was sat on the roadside, hugging his knees. His feet rested on the painted white lines on the edge of the road.
Mirage asked, “You okay?”
Hound looked up at Mirage. His face was tight with agitation. “Fine,” he said.
“Normally I have to drag you out of there,” Mirage said, gesturing to the thick grove of trees that huddled by the roadside.
Hound stood sharply. He dusted the moss from his arms. “Leave it,” he said, almost growling. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”
***
“You shouldn’t be in here,” Ratchet told Trailbreaker.
The Ark’s med-bay, sterile and cold, was usually out of bounds to all Autobots apart from Ratchet and his patients. It was a question of quarantine.
“Sorry,” said Trailbreaker. “I just need a
quick—”
“An Autobot’s windscreen is dirtier than the rim of an exhaust port,” Ratchet said, happy to interrupt.
“What do you mean?”
“Microbes!” Ratchet said. “This planet is riddled with them. Tiny organisms, germs.”
“Oh.”
“They’re the dominant species on this planet,” Ratchet explained.
“I thought the humans were.”
Ratchet scoffed.
Trailbreaker shrugged his shoulders. “How’s Hound?”
Ratchet turned to Trailbreaker. “This is Sunstreaker,” he said dryly, pointing at the deactivated robot lying on his slab.
“No, I mean, how’s Hound, generally?”
“Fine, as far as I know.”
“Nothing unusual?”
“He’s at full operational status, and he’s not been to see me about anything recently.”
“Okay.”
“Not that I’d have the time for non-emergency check-ups.” He pointed at Sunstreaker again. “This sorry bastard is my top priority right now.”
Trailbreaker shook his head at Ratchet and turned away. He was rarely able to cope with Ratchet’s back talk.
As Trailbreaker left the med-bay, Ratchet returned to his work without a second thought.
***
Trailbreaker spent hours looking for Hound on board the Ark.
According to Ironhide’s logs, the errant Autobot was assuredly onboard or he wasn’t sitting on trithyllium-steel alloy.
At least half of the Autobots’ starship had been declared out of bounds by Prowl. Access doors and hatches had been sealed and power cut off. It was all part of his energy saving measures. It made sense, but it didn’t do much for morale.
Sometimes an Autobot just wanted to be alone.
Every so often, Trailbreaker would stop. He would activate his forcefield generator, but modify it to emit a short-burst pulse tuned to the molecular resonance of energon. In other words, it acted like a short range radar, and Trailbreaker could use it to see through walls.
It was how he found Hound, alone in a disused engine room.
“Hound?” Trailbreaker asked. His voice, deep but kind, echoed into the darkened room.
He heard movement, a jolt and then frantic scuffling. It sounded like something being hurriedly packed away.
“Trailbreaker?”
“What are you doing?” Trailbreaker asked.
Hound emerged from the shadows, sliding shut an access panel on the side of his head. “Nothing. Just wanted some time alone.”
“Brawn refusing an oil change again?” Trailbreaker joked, trying to lighten the room.
“Yeah!” Hound laughed. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
“Actually,” Trailbreaker said. “I am worried. About you.”
“Me?”
Trailbreaker’s voice faltered. He hated pulling rank. “This mission to map the Ark’s surrounding areas,” he began. “Your work isn’t... up to your usual high standards.”
“Oh.”
“I mean, don’t take it personally, I just... expected better,” Trailbreaker’s tone was erratic.
“When do you think we’ll go home?” Hound asked.
Trailbreaker wondered if the question was a diversion, but something in Hound’s voice told him it wasn’t.
“I miss Cybertron,” Hound said.
“But you love it here!” said Trailbreaker. “Of all of us, you’re the one who’s embraced this new world the most. You’re out of the Ark more than in it.”
Hound let his chin dip into his chest. “I don’t know any more.”
“Your mission is important,” Trailbreaker said, trying his best to tow the line between officer and friend. “We need to defend the Ark as best we can.”
Hound approached Trailbreaker and looked up. There was fear in his voice as he pleaded: “Don’t make me go back out there.”
“What’s out there?” Trailbreaker asked. “You love it out there. And Mirage is on hand to back you up.”
Hound remained silent.
“Isn’t he?”
“Yes,” said Hound, not wanting to get Mirage involved. “He’s always with me.”
“The quicker we complete the mission, the quicker we can win this war,” urged Trailbreaker. “And go home.”
Silence.
“Please?”
***
The forest tormented Hound. Taking steps as wide and fast as his hip’s hydraulics would allow, he strode between the trees. Branches were like clawed arms, snatching at him as he went. Once welcoming, Mother Nature had turned on Hound and offered only nightmares.
The Autobot paced circles, disorientated. His mind spun inside his head. Nothing made sense any more. The sky wasn’t blue any more, all Hound could see was a pitch-dark veil hanging over him.
He felt fingers on his legs, he could hear the Earth’s animals creeping behind him, ready to pounce.
The cold wind was a colder voice. It urged him deeper into the forest, compelled him to obey.
Hound held his hand up to his face and reeled backwards to the sight of his fingers melting away. His fear pulled away the tethers to his sanity. He was frightening himself.
He wanted to call for Mirage. He wanted to kill Mirage. He wouldn’t kill Mirage.
Hound clutched his head with both hands. “I am not a killer!” he called out. And then he collapsed to the ground.
***
It was raining. Mirage skidded across the mud, arms wide to help his balance. He called Hound’s name again. The rain, heavier now, crept into his joints and started shorting his circuitry. Mirage winced.
“Hound!”
The rain fell in sheets, but Mirage kept going. This area of the forest was the last to be recorded, Hound was nowhere else.
With fogged optics and mud on his face Mirage pressed on, all sensors online scanning all frequencies.
He almost tripped on Hound’s body. The dark green armoured foetus, perfectly coloured to hide in the mud, was still and lifeless. Mirage dropped to his knees and rolled Hound onto his back. He was dead, he was sure.
Mirage activated his radio. “Fix on my position,” he shouted through the rain. “Bring a MARB.”
***
Optimus Prime, flanked by Prowl and Ratchet, leaned over the desk, palms spread across its surface. His faceplate guarded his emotions.
Opposite, Trailbreaker and Mirage stood. They glared at Ratchet.
Prowl knew how it was going to turn out.
“Hound’s death,” Optimus said, his tone low and grave. “Any explanations?”
“Well what’s the medical opinion?” Mirage sneered at Ratchet.
Optimus Prime moved away from the desk, letting Ratchet make his report.
“By the time you got him to me there was nothing I could do,” Ratchet said. “His mind had shut down. Deep-rooted code had been deleted.”
“Deleted?” said Trailbreaker. “How?”
“I can’t answer that,” Ratchet said. “But according to the access logs there were two people accessing his mind. I think it was Decepticon.”
Prowl stepped into the conversation. “We can all guess who. It appears he can’t just read minds, he can write to them as well.”
Prowl’s theory hung in the air and was absorbed by the five Autobots. It sent a cold surge down their spines.
“You said two people,” Mirage said.
“According to the access logs, it was Hound who was deleting his own memory files.”
“Impossible!”
Ratchet handed Mirage a datapad. “It’s all there,” he explained. “Our minds are so well protected, so shielded that any attempts to access them are recorded in the access logs. It’s like a breadcrumb trail.”
Mirage stared at the datapad, scrolling through Ratchet’s post-mortem findings. He was magnetised to the information.
“We’ve lost a valuable asset,” Prowl said.
Trailbreaker broke. “We’ve lost a friend!” he sneered.
Optimus Prime tried to diffuse the situation. “We’ve called you both in here to try to find out how this happened to Hound.”
Prowl interrupted. “If the Decepticons can get to us on our own territory—”
“Prowl,” Optimus said calmly, raising his hand.
As Mirage continued to study Ratchet’s data, Trailbreaker made his report. “I had Hound mapping the area around the Ark, detailing the environment and terrain to find any spots the Decepticons might use. I assigned Mirage to stay with him, to keep watch.”
Mirage was too engrossed to take his cue.
“Mirage!” Optimus Prime shouted, slamming his fist on the desk. He was raw. The four other Autobots snapped to attention.
“I did keep watch,” Mirage affirmed. “It’s just, the forest was too... and Hound was too...”
Trailbreaker grabbed Mirage by the shoulder, he squeezed his hand aggressively. Mirage dropped the datapad. “This was your fault!” Trailbreaker bellowed.
“As much as it was yours,” Mirage countered, wrestling himself free. “It was your blasted mission! Look at me know and tell me you didn’t push him. What was more important to you?”
Trailbreaker threw a punch into Mirage’s chest, knocking him to the ground. He stepped back to kick him.
Prowl leapt over the desk and slid between the two Autobots. “Enough!” he commanded. He helped Mirage to his feet and picked up the datapad, handing it back to him.
Optimus Prime folded his arms.
“If Hound could see you now,” Ratchet said.
Trailbreaker turned to Mirage. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too,” Mirage replied before returning his attention back to the datapad.
“This is getting nowhere,” said Optimus. “No one is to blame for Hound’s death. We all take the same risk in the field.”
“Yes, but Hound didn’t deserved this,” Trailbreak said, his voice cracking. “It was just a reconnaissance mission.”
“Unfortunately, it shows you just what we’re up against,” Prowl said. He looked up at Optimus Prime.
“According to this,” Mirage said, regaining composure and referring to the datapad, “The external viral code reads like a standard Decepticon reprogramming subroutine. They used to use similar back on Cybertron to create double agents.”
Prowl nodded.
“Only back then,” Mirage continued, “they had to physically input the data. I have hundreds of counter-intelligence reports on it.”
“But now they’ve developed a way to remotely upload their code?” Ratchet surmised.
“Looks that way,” Mirage said.
“If that’s true...” Trailbreaker shook his head, afraid to finish his own sentence.
“The Decepticons really can attack us on our own territory,” Mirage said.
“And what about Hound’s part in this?”
“He was deliberately deleting the rogue files, trying to fight off the viral code. It was destroying his mind, piece by piece, destroying himself in the process.”
“He wouldn’t have known what he was doing,” Ratchet said. “If the polluting code was over-writing anything important, he would have deleted code that was essential to his own survival.”
“Whatever way you look at it,” Trailbreaker said remorsefully, “Hound was fighting it until the end. They took away everything that made him who he was, and he was still brave enough to fight them, to stop them from making him a double agent.”
“And you can’t not admire him for that,” Mirage said.
Optimus Prime moved away from the desk and made for the door.
“Prime, where are you going?” Prowl asked.
“To tell the others about Hound. Prowl, I trust you’ve already thought of a way to proceed.”
***
Optimus Prime made his way through the Ark’s corridors. The lights above, economically dim, did nothing to alleviate his stress. How could he tell the others about Hound?
At least with Sunstreaker, there was hope he would eventually be repaired by Ratchet, brought back to life in the end.
But Hound was dead, not deactivated. His brain had been destroyed. His mind had been annihilated. How would the others cope? How would he?
Optimus Prime stopped where he stood. He lifted his arm, activated his radio and spoke with renewed mettle. “Wheeljack, come in.”
“Yes, Prime.”
“Take me to the Last Resort.”
***
In the deepest bowels of the Ark, Optimus Prime and Wheeljack walked silently through the dark labyrinth that led them away from all authorised areas.
Wheeljack inputted encrypted code after encrypted code into every locked door they faced.
Eventually, after many unspoken hours, they reached the Last Resort.
“Wait here,” Wheeljack said. “I don’t want you to see this.”
Optimus nodded.
With one final lock to contend with Wheeljack opened to the armoured door to a vault that had been kept secret for over four million years.
The vault was small, claustrophobic. The walls were covered in small doors, each the size of Wheeljack’s hand. Each door had a name etched upon it, including his own. He shuddered at the thought of what he was doing, of what the mind bank contained.
Wheeljack knelt down and dragged his finger down the surface of the doors. Underneath the door marked “Hoist” was a door marked “Hound”.
***
EPILOGUE
The sun had yet to rise.
Trailbreaker and Mirage stood at the edge of the forest as Hound cautiously walked through the bushes. The forest was still quiet, only just starting to wake.
Hound stopped. He lifted his head and relaxed his arms. As the sun began to rise and the sky turned a warm yellow, Hound opened himself to Mother Nature, experiencing the wonders of Earth for the very first time. Once again.
The promise of new adventure flooded his senses and buoyed his unspoiled mind. Hound felt alive and magnificent.
Trailbreaker turned to Mirage and smiled proudly.
Hound started laughing. An uncontrollable, unabashed glee rushed through his body. Life, here and now, was unadulterated.
Trailbreaker quietly asked Mirage: “Why did we do this so early in the morning? Why now?”
Mirage rested his hand on Trailbreaker’s shoulder. “Because dawn is his favourite moment.”
The end