Fiction - "The Mortal Coil"

[Deleted]

THE MORTAL COIL
Written by Graham Thomson

Author's Note: My first Transformers stories were about war and death. So since this is my last Transformers story, I wanted to write about love and life.

"Cold hands!" Stylor winced as he recoiled from Fixit's robotic touch.

"Apologies," Fixit replied. His manufactured bedside manner was in full flow. "I forget how sensitive you humans are."

Stylor thought back to the hospitals of his home world of Nebulos. The warmth and care he received there was world's apart from the detached and clinical mechanics found here on Cybertron. "I'm a nebulan," he protested.

"Nebulans, humans," Fixit scoffed. "I've read the McV findings. Your species are essentially the same."

Stylor looked down at the plastic device that had pierced his pallid skin and was now analysing his blood. "Well?"

Fixit, with a hint of sadness in his voice, said: "Your heart's not getting any better, I'm afraid. You're not going to recover."

Stylor pulled the analyser from his arm and stood. He caught a glance of his seventy-four year old wrinkled self in a reflective surface. He hated how old he'd become. "Please Fixit, let me tell Chromedome myself."

"Sure, Stylor. But I will have to tell Prowl."

"I know you do," Stylor sighed.

"Last surviving Headmaster," Fixit smiled. It was his attempt to spin the positive. "Of the originals, anyway."

Stylor walked out of the medbay without replying or looking back.

* * *

Back in their quarters, Stylor looked up at the inert, headless form of Chromedome's body. Though quite average by Transformers standards, it was still formidable in Stylor's eyes.

The nebulan stretched and then stepped up to the silver and red metal suitcase that lay on the floor. After using his bare foot to activate it, Stylor stood still while the suitcase unfurled and enveloped him in his Headmaster armour. A moment later he had transformed into Chromedome's head and, now binary-bonded, entered the mindscape.

* * *

"You're back!" Chromedome sang.

Stylor nodded and smiled back as he stepped into the mindscape. The environment here was a lush and verdant landscape. He could hear the wildlife of Nebulos chattering in the distance despite the synthesised music his partner was always so fond of playing. He took a deep breath of the fresh, crisp air.

Sliding a small computer terminal behind his back, Chromedome smiled. "You're looking younger every time I see you in here."

Stylor looked at his arms. The pallor to his skin had been replaced with a sun kissed tan. He touched his face, his skin as smooth as when he was nineteen, when he first became Chromedome's partner. He smiled back. "You can never grow old in the place where dreams are made."

Chromedome admitted: "I already know what Fixit's test results mean." He thought of what he'd been programming in Stylor's absence. He thought of The Mortal Coil.

Stylor stepped up to Chromedome and touched his arm. "Let's put it out of our shared mind for now. Please?"

"Of course… wait… something's happening… something's wrong."

* * *

"Sedate him," Prowl ordered as he marched into Chromedome's quarters.

"Yes, Prowl," replied one of the medical team. "Quickly now. Chromedome's replacement cranial module is waiting."

TO BE CONTINUED!

[Andy Turnbull]

That's an ominous ending.

Interesting to see some consideration given to the frailties of the binary-bonded organic partner. Also, for one to die of old age raises some questions.

Looking forward to subsequent installments.

Andy

[legios]

Great stuff Graham, like the sense of a close friendship facing up to the difference in mortality between Transformers and organics - makes for a thought-provoking installment. I look forward to seeing where you take this in future chapters.

Karl

[Deleted]

Jul 30, 2012 23:59:02 GMT Andy Turnbull said:

That's an ominous ending.

Interesting to see some consideration given to the frailties of the binary-bonded organic partner. Also, for one to die of old age raises some questions.

Looking forward to subsequent installments.

Andy

Cheers, Andy!

[Deleted]

Jul 31, 2012 11:51:37 GMT legios said:

Great stuff Graham, like the sense of a close friendship facing up to the difference in mortality between Transformers and organics - makes for a thought-provoking installment. I look forward to seeing where you take this in future chapters.

Karl

I appreciate your comments, Karl! I hope things will become even more thought-provoking as the story continues.

[Deleted]

THE MORTAL COIL (Part 2)

“What have they done to us?” Stylor asked out loud. He slid his trembling aged hand across the glossy bronze sheen of Chromedome’s paintwork.

Inert and in vehicle mode, Chromedome did not reply. Nevertheless, the electronic music played, as it often did, from his dashboard.

#We’ll always be together/However far it seems#

Carrying his Headmaster armour in its suitcase mode, Stylor paced slowly around Chromedome. Pinpricks of light shone from above and Chromedome looked as new as if rolled out from the assembly line for the first time.

Stylor stared at the reflection of his withered face. Growing so close to Chromedome, someone who could live forever, was, despite Fixit’s tests, the real dis-ease of Stylor’s heart.

“I always wanted to stay young forever,” Stylor admitted. “But for the wrong reasons until I met you.” He activated his Headmaster armour and prepared to binary-bond. He fought the clenching pain in his chest. “You have to convince Prowl. I don’t want to die on Cybertron.”

* *

Chromedome and Prowl sat across the oval table from one another. Prowl, coolly detached; Chromedome, fiery with anger.

“So to whom am I talking?” Prowl asked, facing Chromedome’s stare.

“Just me. Whatever your butchers have done to us... our link is gone. All you’ve left me with is a frail old man inside my head.”

“There were... complications... We only had Brainstorm’s notes to go on. Were he still alive...”

“... he would have insisted you leave us be! The binary-bonding process is irreversible.”

“No, it isn’t,” Prowl urged. “We will remedy what we’ve done, just as soon as we---”

Chromedome slammed his fist on the table, startling Prowl. “Stylor is dying. Let us spend what little time we have left together. Let us go to Earth.”

“You knew how this would play out. Ignoring my messages these last few months hasn’t helped. It would have been better if you’d separated from Stylor sooner.”

“And go back to the emptiness I felt before I met him? I am terrified at the thought of having to carry on without him.”

“But you hardly know him.”

“Fifty-five years, Prowl. That’s a lifetime for a nebulan.”

“But not even a vorn for us.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“I’m afraid I don’t, Chromedome.”

“It’s love, Prowl. It transcends the physical, it transcends everything. It’s a connection between two beings, regardless of what’s on the outside, of what we’re made of, or what planet we’re from. You may not understand it, but it is love.”

Prowl remained silent as he absorbed Chromedome’s words. “I’m looking at the big picture. Your contributions to the Autobot war effort are too important. I can’t lose you as an asset.”

Chromedome stood. “And I can’t lose Stylor.”

“You’ll get over him. You lived for millions of years without him.”

Grabbing the edges of the table, Chromedome squeezed hard and sunk his fingers into the surface. “I won’t go back to the emptiness!”

Taking both Autobots by surprise, Optimus Prime strode into the room with a stern: “I’ve heard enough!”

Chromedome and Prowl snapped to attention.

Optimus regarded them both. “Why Earth, Chromedome?”

Chromedome remained silent.

Optimus posited: “I imagine it’s to do with The Mortal Coil.”

“How did you know about that, Optimus? I’ve managed to keep that a secret from Stylor for years...”

“Look, Prime,” Prowl interrupted. “I can’t let Chromedome go. It’s an unfortunate situation, granted. But he can’t leave us.”

Optimus Prime’s eyes narrowed. “I’m vetoing your decision, Prowl.”

“By what logic?”

Remembering his time with Hi-Q, Optimus replied: “In this case, logic must make way for compassion.”

* *

The glare of Earth’s sun bounced across Chromedome’s windshield. Inside, Stylor adjusted the cable that looped through his shirt buttons and connected the port on his chest to Chromedome’s dashboard. It was ad hoc, but at least it was stable.

“Are you OK?” Chromedome asked.

Stylor pressed his chest. “Let’s just say spacebridge travel isn’t exactly gentle on an old man’s body.”

“I have some of my best memories here,” Chromedome said of Earth.

“Me too,” Stylor agreed. “Though it is a shame we couldn’t go back to Nebulos.”

“There’s no spacebridge nexus there,” Chromedome lied.

Stylor offered a rueful smile. “That doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that we make the most of the time we have left together.”

TO BE CONTINUED!

[Deleted]

THE MORTAL COIL (Part 3)

440 North West Glisan Street, Portland, Oregon. 1:38 a.m. Sunday, 3 August 2042.

The bronze sports car, a classic chassis by today's standards, pulled up to the sidewalk outside the nightclub. The music from inside throbbed in the air and the vintage neon signage bounced pink and gold reflections across the puddles in the street.

Inside the car, Stylor twisted and pulled the connectors from his chest that linked him to Chromedome. "I'll be two minutes, if that," he said. Then joked: "Try not to get towed away!"

The Autobot, helplessly trapped in vehicle mode, could not reply without his binary-bond junction with Stylor.

Passers-by cooed at Chromedome's sleek form before seeing and realizing how old Stylor looked. They shook their heads in ageist judgement before entering the club. Concerned more with his full bladder, Stylor followed, clasping at his "lifetime" membership card.

A painful amount of time seemed to pass before Stylor returned. With the binary-bond junction restored, Chromedome asked: "Changed much?"

"Youth of today," Stylor exhaled. "Surgically attached to their iWears, twittering and whatnot to each other instead of shouting over the music like I used to do! They're lucky the wi-fi signal is so potent around here."

"Best in the area," Chromedome commented. "You never got that on Nebulos, did you?"

"Blame Hi-Q. He always reckoned wireless communications were too easily hacked," Stylor said. Then: "What made you think of coming here anyway? After all we've seen and done on Earth this last year?"

"If nothing else, my dear Stylor, you were a ladies' man," Chromedome explained, side-stepping his true motivation. "Remember all those nights you'd beg me to take you here during our zero-time. I'd wait outside, on this very street, while you would take your freshly-preened self and your latest outfit in there only to come out hours later with two or more females draped off your arms. I was some kind of wing man, that's for sure."

"You were so generous, Chromedome, happy to be parked outside for endless hours. And nights."

"I loved the electronic music. Anyone can pluck a string or blow into a tube to make a sound. But electronic music; to make binary patterns somehow melodic and tuneful… let's just say it appealed to the computer programmer in me!"

Stylor looked through Chromedome's windshield at the doors of the nightclub. "That's all gone now, though, hasn't it? There was a time when I couldn't stop looking at myself in the mirror. Now I'm too scared to. I watch these young folk now and I want to walk right up to them, grab them and tell them not to throw away their lives, not to waste precious time."

"It's been a wonderful year, don't you think?"

"I couldn't have asked for better," Stylor said with wet eyes. He clutched the connector on his chest, making sure it was still secure.

"I could have killed Prowl for what he did," Chromedome said. "I miss our shared mind, I miss our mindscape… It was a place just for us, one which we could shape to our every desire."

Stylor laughed. "I remember when we first went there. It was so plain and desolate and boring. You literally had no imagination!"

"And look what it evolved into, as our relationship evolved. You taught me so much, Stylor."

"I gave the stuffy computer programmer some style, did I not?"

"Can't argue with that…" Chromedome's voice trailed off. He struggled to keep the conversation light.

"You OK?"

"Not really."

"Me neither," Stylor admitted. "My dying heart ticks inside me like the Doomsday Clock. I am but minutes from midnight."

"Come on, old man," Chromedome pleaded. "We've been through this."

"I am sorry, Chromedome. I am sorry for growing old, for not being able to finish this journey with you. I am sorry for all the times you're going to look up from what you're doing, whatever computer program you're writing, and wish it wasn't another lonely day."

"You have nothing to be sorry about, you really don't."

"I just can't get the inevitable out of mind," Stylor said.

"I'm the same. I keep asking myself the same questions. Would I go around saying that I'm no longer a Headmaster? Or will I always be a Headmaster that has the biggest part of me missing? The closer I got to you, the less the Autobots mattered. I didn't flee when Unicron attacked because I'm a coward, I fled to protect you, to protect what he had."

"I didn't even take it seriously at first. You Autobots were the latest trend, and the Headmaster armour…" Stylor paused to look at his mechanical suit, tucked neatly away in suitcase mode in the footwell… "was the latest fashion that I just had to have. I had no interest in saving the world, but I figured that metal suit would get me in with the ladies. Oh, those ladies. If these back seats could talk…"

"Newsflash: They can."

Stylor was deaf now to his partner's attempts at humour. "Chromedome, you will live forever but I will cease to be and will never come to life again."

"You don't know that for sure."

"Would nebulans and transformers share an afterlife?"

"I tend not to stray into the territories of theology. That was always Highbrowʼs domain. But if Primus is my god and He created me, there would have been no consideration for other species. Why would there be? Look at all the religions Earth has had. Not even the same species, as a whole, believes that it will share the same afterlife. So many different beliefs and nobody wants the same thing." He paused. "It doesn't look likely, does it? "

A silence fell upon Stylor and Chromedome. It was a black-hearted monster that had crawled between them and started to pull them apart.

It was time now for absolute honesty.

As he watched people start to spill out of the nightclub in search of taxis to onward destinations, Stylor could feel his pulse throbbing in his neck, hear his heartbeat in his ears. "So," he said. "This is where you explain to me exactly what The Mortal Coil is."

"How did you…" Chromedome wondered.

"Impossible to keep secrets when you share a mind, don't you think!" Stylor said. He hated that his partner had kept something from him. His anger was evident in his trembling voice. "Tell me what it is. It's a computer program isn't it?"

"Yes," Chromedome admitted. "I've been working on it for months, maybe longer. Ever since you started getting ill."

"What does it do?"

Chromedome's voice filled with hope. "It's a gift! For both of us!"

"I don't understand," Stylor said. He ignored the tightening of his chest. "Are you saying…"

"I'm saying," Chromedome explained, "that if executed at exactly the moment of your…" he daren't say it… "expiration, it will capture our minds and up---"

Stylor's heart pounded against his ribs like a caged animal. "And have you even tested it? You have no way of knowing if it'll work! It's not like there are any other original Headmasters available to beta test it on. It's too risky!"

"I'm prepared for that. I know that if it doesn't work my functions will cease when yours do. But it will work, as long as you're connected to me at the time, there won't be any problem."

"Oh my god, Chromedome," Stylor cried. "You're a computer programmer! You don't take risks!"

"You taught me to take risks."

The sudden, searing pain in his chest caused Stylor to recoil in his seat. His face reddened, his chest burned, his lungs collapsed. He slammed his palm against the glass of Chromedome's window.

The Autobot sounded his horn and flashed his lights. Those that were in the nearby taxi queue dashed over.

"Call an ambulance!" one shouted.

"He's having a heart attack!" screamed another.

Chaos descended in earnest, but it was fleeting. An ambulance came and went, ferrying Stylor to the nearest hospital. An hour later, Chromedome felt the cold, unwelcome hook of a tow truck under his axle. On his driver's seat lay the binary-bond junction, disconnected from Stylor and coiled like a dead serpent.

TO BE CONCLUDED!

[Deleted]

THE MORTAL COIL (Conclusion)

"I just wish he were more into sports and less into fashion," Stylor's father had said.

"I just wish he concentrated more on his studies and less on the girls in his class," Stylor's mother had said.

"I just wish he wouldn't treat it like the end of the world, it's only a spot," Stylor's sister had said.

"I just wish he spent more time looking at me than that mirror," Stylor's first girlfriend had said.

"I just wish you hadn't let that dandy join us," Stylor's commanding officer had said.

"I just wish I hadn't been paired up with such a shallow, self-absorbed, superficial simpleton," Stylor's Headmaster partner.

"I just wish…"

Stylor woke up with a start. His skin, drenched in sweat, felt cold and heavy. He could feel the morphine burning in his bloodstream. The hospital bed felt so soft and welcoming, he wondered if it would actually be such a bad place to die.

The thought of Chromedome, helpless and alone and out there somewhere jolted his weary frame upright.

"Woah there, Mr Tyler," one of the nurses said as he entered Stylor's room.

"Who's Mr Tyler?"

A second nurse said, "Dementia. Not surprising at his age."

"No…" said Stylor. His head felt light and his body weak. "You don't understand."

"There now," the first nurse said, gently pushing Stylor back into the bed. "You've suffered a massive coronary. You need to rest."

"Please," begged Stylor. "Don't make me die here alone. I need to get to my car."

The second nurse cupped Stylor's cheeks and softly asked: "What's your first name, sir? All we have is 'S Tyler' stencilled on your suitcase over there."

"Yes!" Stylor coughed. "My suitcase! Let me…"

Both nurses hauled the metallic case onto the bed and Stylor reached out. They stepped back and witnessed the Headmaster armour unfurl from its compact shape and cover the weak old man in a shining red and silver metal suit.

Allowing the armour to take over his motor functions, and feeling instantly energised and younger, Stylor smiled. "Thanks for what you've done, but I have to find him."

As Stylor dashed past them and into the corridor, one nurse turned to the other and said, "Was that… Iron Man?"

* * *

Less than a mile away from the Providence Portland Medical Center, Chromedome had been parked in Lot 7 of the city vehicle pound. Helpless and dormant, the mode-locked Autobot had no way of knowing if Stylor was dead or alive. Without his partner, he had no way of moving, communicating or otherwise offering any signs of sentience.

He wondered if the other Autobots would retrieve him and finish replacing his head… or would he be left here to rust. Either way, he would be alone and empty. There was nothing left to do but return to the emptiness.

* * *

Stylor raced out of the hospital's main entrance, bounding across the street in long strides thanks to the hydraulics of his Headmaster armour. Behind him he could hear the cries and shouts of security staff and police officers as they gave chase.

Checking his suit's mapping circuits, Stylor quickly found Chromedome's location. He would be there, maintaining a pace of forty miles per hour, within minutes. "Heart, don't fail me now," he pleaded to himself.

Despite everything, Stylor felt, for the moment, as young as when he first became a Headmaster. He would find Chromedome no matter the cost.

"Move!" Stylor shouted as he sprinted through the crowds towards the car pound. He felt his heart pulsating, fearing that it would burst inside his chest before he was reunited with his partner.

Dashing around the last corner, Stylor came to face the chain mail fence that surrounded the compound. As he reached up to begin his climb, he heard a voice.

"Stop! Police!" Spilling out of a patrol car, three armed officers aimed their rifles at the nebulan.

Wondering if he should deploy weaponry, Stylor whispered: "For Thok's sake, Stylor you're in your seventies!" Then he shrugged and used his wrist-mounted lasers to shoot out the front tyres of the patrol car. The officers dove for cover.

As he scaled the fence, Stylor could hear the sirens of more patrol cars arriving. He blocked them from his mind. He was too close to give up now.

Breathless and struggling to stay conscious Stylor jogged along the endless lines of parked cars. "Come on, Chromedome. Where are you?"

And then the glint of sunlight across that familiar bronze paintwork caught his eye. With everything he had, Stylor sprinted over to Chromedome and once within bonding range, began to transform into head mode.

Reciprocating, Chromedome unfolded from vehicle to robot mode and caught Stylor in his hands. "Heads up!" Chromedome said, fitting his head onto his shoulders.

A swarm of police officers began shooting at the Autobot. Barely flinching, Chromedome stepped over the fence and strode over the patrol cars before transforming back into car mode. Back in the driver's seat, Stylor shed his armour and grabbed the binary-bond junction and plunged it into his chest.

He wheezed, "Don't ask, just drive!"

Powering through his gearshifts, Chromedome accelerated along the roads and headed towards the nightclub on North West Glisan Street. Behind him, a squadron of patrol cars continued their chase.

"No!" Stylor protested. "Drive out of town, get away. They'll corner you in the city streets and kill you. Remember the sanctions after Jhiaxus destroyed San Francisco."

"No can do," Chromedome said. "I don't care. The wi-fi signal is strongest there. Only there will The Mortal Coil have the best chance of working."

Turning onto North West Glisan Street, Chromedome and Stylor were met with a police barricade.

"Looks like it's out of our hands now," Stylor said.

"How long can you hold on?"

"Not very, I'm afraid."

Chromedome turned on himself and sped away from the chase, plotting the quickest route out of Portland. "This isn't how I wanted it to end," he said.

"Like I said," Stylor coughed, "it's out of our hands now."

Stylor could feel the icy claw of death squeeze its grip on him. He took a deep breath. Everything faded away: every detail, every consideration, every negative emotion. Anger, fear, and frustration gave way to gratitude and love. He would meet his end in the embrace, such as it was, of his best friend.

"We don't have to do this," he breathed. "The Autobots can pick you up and take you home and finish what they started. You can live on."

"I already told you: I won't go back to the emptiness."

With one hand on his chest and the other on Chromedome's steering wheel, Stylor summoned the courage to utter his last words. Tears came to his eyes. He blinked them away. And his voice, when he finally found it, was measured and warm. "It won't be emptiness, Chromedome, it'll be room for happiness."

* * *

With his pistol trained steadily on the bronze car, the police officer approached cautiously. There was no movement from the vehicle and all was quiet save for the electronic music playing from the dashboard. He recognised the song as a classic from 1984.

He looked through the driver's window. The old man who had been driving was dead. A strange filamentous cable connected the man's chest to the car. Lowering his gun, the officer looked at the man. There was a tear on his cheek, a smile on his face.

And the song continued to play.

#We'll always be together/However far it seems#
#We'll always be together/Together in electric dreams#

The end.

[skillex]

Superb stuff, really enjoyed it, very sad and a great extrapolation of the original stuff.

But... "last story"? Why Graham?

[legios]

A fantastic piece of work Graham. Rare to see a Transformers story which takes themes of personal loyalty and emotional connections to its heart in the way that this does.

Karl

[Deleted]

Aug 12, 2012 9:37:56 GMT skillex said:

Superb stuff, really enjoyed it, very sad and a great extrapolation of the original stuff.

But... "last story"? Why Graham?

Thanks, Graeme, I'm really pleased you like it!

I'm trying my hand at some original work, so I'm concentrating all my creative efforts on that right now.

[Deleted]

Aug 12, 2012 16:06:03 GMT legios said:

A fantastic piece of work Graham. Rare to see a Transformers story which takes themes of personal loyalty and emotional connections to its heart in the way that this does.

Karl

Thanks for the feedback, Karl. I appreciate it as always. Glad you liked it!