by snavej » Mon Oct 21, 2019 9:21 am
- Motto: "Follow your instincts and your common sense."
Earnest versus Irksome © John H. Evans, Sept. - Oct. 2019
Location: Planet Cybertron, south-western galactic fringe, twenty two thousand light years from the Milky Way Centre (MWC) and consciousness extending into the Milky Way galaxy
Who’s narrating this? Is it another of those accursed, self-indulgent stories? My mind’s not my own these days. It’s infested with others. Who am I right now? There’s no way of knowing. I can but struggle on.
Poor, confused boy; trapped in the infinite beast cage, his very self atomised. He shouldn’t whimper, though. He volunteered for this, as did I. Is he prepared? That remains to be seen.
This is your doing! You’ll pay... ...for nothing, co-dependent whelp. You wanted this, so let’s... ...burn you from existence, über fiend!... ...Hah, you’re such a drama queen! No, let’s start by scrambling your memories...
* * * * *
Location: Planet Plezamyn, southern spiral arm, six thousand light years from the MWC
“Have you seen this person?” asked Glanbord. “It’s vital that we find him as soon as possible.” He projected a hologram of his own head and shoulders. The three stunned natives gazed up at him and the hologram. They were astonished and perturbed at the same time.
“Please help us to find him!” implored Glanbord. “We’re lost without him. We don’t know what we’ll do!”
“He looks like you,” said Aqh’trivbo. “What’s his name?”
“Are you brothers?” suggested Aqh’spogl.
“Do you all come off a production line?” enquired Aqh’ziph. “That would make sense.” Glanbord looked at the hologram. It showed a young mechanoid with blue, softly glowing eyes and an elaborate helmet that bristled with small gadgets. He compared it to blueprints of himself and saw an almost exact match. The only difference was that some of the helmet gadgets were hinged or rotated in other directions.
“It could be me but how?” admitted Glanbord. “I’m here, not lost. It could be a brother or several brothers rolled into one. This is perplexing.”
“More so for us!” said Aqh’trivbo. “This is totally new to us. No one’s ever seen a shiny giant like you around here!”
“Huh, I am shiny aren’t I?!” exclaimed Glanbord, looking at the sunlight glinting on his arms and chest. “I thought those were natural lights in my peripheral vision. I’m confused. I’ve forgotten a great deal lately. I’m not sure what’s going on and what I should be doing.”
“You should stay here and work it out,” advised Aqh’spogl. “Maybe there are answers in your flying ship over there. We saw you arrive in it.”
“It’s best that you don’t wander too far,” added Aqh’ziph. “In your confusion, you might cause harm and get into trouble. We wouldn’t want that.” She conversed with her two friends. Glanbord heard everything because he was telepathic.
“We’ll try to stop people from coming over here to hassle you,” said Aqh’ziph. “The local village council will organise it. Also, we’ll inform you if other giants appear.”
“That’s very kind of you, little Aqhs!” said Glanbord. “I might not stay long, though. I feel that I should fly back to my world and rediscover my identity and purpose.” He turned off the hologram.
“Take care, brave Glanbord,” said Aqh’spogl. “Flying across the heavens is very dangerous, especially without your wits about you.” Glanbord nodded as the three organic people walked away briskly. They moved in a weird, twisting manner on account of their tripod bodies. However, that motion gave them a full view of their surroundings. It would be almost impossible to sneak up on them.
Glanbord was deeply worried about his own situation. Why had he been asking where he was? Upon reflection, the hologram definitely showed him and not a brother. He recognised a unique scratch mark on his right jaw-guard. It was slow to heal due to acid from a less hospitable planet. What was that planet called? He should’ve remembered. His database said ‘Xovajibu 4k’. It meant nothing to him. He read his log. There were more dry facts that didn’t resonate. Increasingly worried, he started walking to the ship. It was a fairly new vessel and it gleamed brightly under the orange sun. As he walked, Glanbord found that parts of his upper body were loosening. Was he falling apart? He stopped and paid close attention to his components. They were shifting around in very complex ways. He encouraged the process in his right arm and shoulder. A fairly large wheel unfolded and solidified. His right arm merged with the right side of his chest. Continuing, he allowed his left arm and shoulder to change in the same way. Clearly, he was a shape-shifter! It was a joy to complete the transformation. He was now an all-terrain vehicle with numerous scientific instruments and a few weapons. He revved his engine and reached the ship twenty seconds later. He drove up the entry ramp, parked in the service bay and began a series of diagnostic tests. As those ran, the ramp retracted, the hatch closed and his mind wandered. Why this sudden amnesia? Who was he? Ego submerged into unconsciousness. Thought continued occulted. The ship was silent except for machine whirring and faint natural sounds outside. Glanbord grappled with his primal, existential dilemma.
* * * * *
Location: Moon 3 of giant planet 2, orbiting star 8981675, northern spiral arm, eight thousand light years from the MYC
Exploring here had been an error but he couldn’t have known. Shards of past lives sliced holes in his consciousness. He used to be many others. He had an ancient lineage. Now, fossil memories were rising chaotically to the surface. They clouded his motives, making him unpredictable. He daren’t harm the natives here so he divided his body, letting the pieces fall and scatter. His head, neck and upper chest lay sideways on sand and gravel. Shaded by cliffs, he floundered in an ocean of random recall. With luck, he’d be hidden until his good sense returned.
He forgot his true identity. He veered wildly between lifetimes, from incident to incident. He saw many suns, from red to blue. They set steadily, making quick or slow afternoons, short or long evenings but always a dark night in the end. Shadows grew and spread. The day bustle diminished and died away. Vision was obscured by blackness. Nocturnal things arose to feed. There was usually a smothering silence, accompanied by a bone chill. Night was inescapable, except where fire and other lights existed. Why was he dwelling on the obvious? He knew why. The answer was before him: inescapable, dark ... and deadly. The weak would die of cold or other misfortune. Soon enough, they’d be consumed by hungry creatures, large or small. He felt himself being bitten, chewed, swallowed and absorbed. The living night had him and meant to keep him forever. He struggled but never had an effort felt so vain. His motivation was crushed remorselessly. He welcomed death, to end the torment. Death came but not the end.
He remembered many past deaths but they were cut short. Time after time, he was dragged back from the brink and thrust into a new life. It became a repeating pattern, albeit with considerable variation. Eventually, he began experiencing new lives that he’d never seen before. He’d entered the spiritual consciousness of other people. As he raced through unfamiliar memories, he realised that the darkness was using him as a conduit. It was transmitting itself to these other souls via his telepathic links. That had to be stopped! Inside his mind, he cried out for aid. A wave of pure power surged in, chasing away the worst shadows and halting the telepathic odyssey. He awoke on the shingle as a cold tide lapped against his neck. His clarity had returned. The wholesome energy had repaired the borders of his mind. He could function again without hindrance. He summoned his arms, legs and main body, bringing himself back together. Expelling liquid methane in copious jets, he flexed his joints and got to his feet. A tide was flooding in. He walked around the nearest cliff and proceeded uphill.
“This is Tote,” he said to his people, light years away. “I’ve been heavily compromised. I’ll return as soon as I can for extensive remedial work.” He transformed and drove slowly over rock and ice, back to his shuttle. His mind still whirled after the latest shocks. How could his people hope to prevail in this galaxy? He felt that they should retreat, regroup and improve themselves immensely before trying to conquer the Milky Way. However, he wasn’t in charge. He was only a soldier, so he’d have to serve. The thought froze his fuel.
* * * * *
Location: Planet Cybertron, various other parts of the Milky Way and also the psychic plane
My scouts fail in their missions. Their minds are overwhelmed by interference. They return to me. I examine them fully and find the problem. It must be solved... ...but you don’t remember how to do it. Also, how can you solve the problem if you can no longer find it? All cloaks and disguises will fall apart eventually; quicker if they’re shaken up. I meddle with many stars, planets, dust clouds and other galactic features. This creates a few novas with more to come soon. Some suspicious facilities on planets are damaged or destroyed. It’s my first physical strike.... ...but it doesn’t trouble me, little spitfire. You may as well give up and go away.
* * * * *
Location: Planet Othentwoze, between the northern and eastern spiral arms, ten thousand light years from the MYC
Why don’t they fear us? In our shuttle, we hover silently above the seventh village. There are nineteen villages on this particular road. We’ve been cruising around for three hours already. Some people watch calmly, without summoning help. Our orbiting ship found no significant armed forces on the planet. Telepathic contact with the locals failed, which probably means trouble. Something’s blocking our mind waves. We scan for danger as we map the area in detail. Everything seems normal for an organic planet, at least on the surface. Crops are grown, livestock’s reared, goods are made, services are rendered and society hums along. The biosphere’s healthy, the population’s relatively low and folk are satisfied with modest lifestyles. The landscape’s orderly with no patches of disarray. The people are tidy, well-behaved and excessively reasonable. What’s beneath the surface? We probe...
Answers emerge slowly, from evidence scattered deep under the soil. Radar pinpoints anomalous fossils, which we beam to the ship. They’re millennia old but still contain genetic traces, distinct from today’s living genes. The species are extinct. Hours pass and we piece together the former inhabitants. It’s painstaking because they were ripped apart. At first, we presume natural damage: glaciers shear, storms tear, floods churn and volcanoes burn. Later, we see slash marks. Precision blades sliced the dead things into slivers. Advanced machines chopped the old creatures finely. This was deliberate, worldwide ecocide. Such machines aren’t used here anymore. Where did they go? We suspect interference from another world. They pulverised the original biome and imposed their own, more ‘suitable’ version. They tried to cover it up. The bodies were mostly destroyed. The new ecosystem looks well-established and natural. The people are friendly and reassuring. The casual observer would be fooled. However, we’re NOT the casual observer. We penetrate the background. We return to the ship, which retreats to another star system. We debate what to do about that world. Its transplanted denizens call it ‘Othentwoze’ and they seem obsessed with the number 138920 for some reason.
The area aether is stultifying and full of veiled enmity. The bold enemy watches unmoving. We opt to proceed at our own risk. We must explore these shadowy regions to enable future control. The ship hops across the light years, arriving smartly at the next life world. This one’s darker: life’s sparser. Many creatures exist only in rock crevices where air and moisture collect. The bare stone between is forlorn and barren; a wasted opportunity. The thin atmosphere and high radiation conspire against full colonisation. We scan again. By day two, we’re confident that the enemy never struck here (at least not for a million years or so). Life was too meagre to threaten him. However, he was here at least once. We found a few metal scraps floating in high orbit. He’s thorough in his reconnaissance. We move on.
Transit in this region feels off-balance. We expect some disorientation but our last jump had severe after-effects. We need over an hour to recover. Stationed behind a moon, we wrestle with our distorted frame of reference. All our jumbled are directions. (Makes actually expression my sense!) We move left and go upward instead. We see ourselves committing mistakes before they happen and then the mistakes repeat a few times around us. It’s maddening and unnecessary. I’m still troubled by the sight of myself buckling Brakkit’s arm plating seven times. I never wanted to hurt Brakkit. I swore to protect him and all the others yet I was channelled into harming him. I was funnelled. Time skips to show it repeatedly. Electrons in my brain were redirected. They couldn’t tell right from back from down from front from left from up from any which way. Switches were flipped. Safeguards were clipped. A cascade crossed my arm into my hand, a grip fell onto his skin; I sensed contact but couldn’t react in time. I dented his plate and deformed the pistons beneath. Little crushed microcircuits rained from his arm in a miniature meteor storm, devastating the sterile, featureless floor panel below. How could I have broken my vow?
I realised that this was enemy work. He altered our environmental parameters and made us all dance. He forced us to collide with each other. We fought to regain our footing. There was no rescue coming. We healed ourselves and replaced parts. We checked each other physically and mentally. When normality was re-established, we took a shuttle and checked the life world nearby. Now we can examine it. The landmarks laid out below are familiar. A hasty first map was remarkably similar to that of Othentwoze. We descend further and see more. The chemistry of the land and air are a little different but the layout... We hardly believe it. The people watch us in the same way as before. Details pour up at us, captured in our data webs. Their sameness assaults us. True, their bodies have alternate proportions but their manner, unreadability, coolness and regimented townscapes blow the mind. Their model, unpretentious, multi-moulded set-up scares us. It’s like when a well-known person or thing appears at an anxious moment in an unexpected place. He, she or it is harmless but the position and timing are jarring.
Their airwaves and networks are gracious, so we learn their language swiftly. It’s their ONLY language. One tongue betrays their artificiality, their racial youth and uniformity. Is there no other talk method? A few irritating baby gabbles keep popping up as daylight hours pass across the globe. They don’t count but they do stick in the brain. We don’t need this! The world’s called Othentwofo. That’s no coincidence. They have a penchant for the number 138924. With skin-crawling annoyance, chirpy writers keep twisting their narratives to include it. Character Such-and-Such buys 138924 tiny blossoms for his sweetie. Character Whatsit marvels at the sight of 138924 stars in the sky. Character Head-Bangingly-Method becomes prisoner 138924. Last but not least, this world is number 138924 in the enemy’s bland empire. One Three Eight Nine Two Four. O th e n two fo. Othentwofo. The enemy is making us suck him with simple word and number puzzles. He crams his surreptitious changelings down our throats. This is another celestial orb that he wiped clean and then spat on. We disengage in disgust, withdraw and go for a metaphorical gargle.
So, here we are in the enemy’s genital garden, if you will. It’s unedifying and highly dangerous. Curse the aether! If it wasn’t jammed up with his sour gloop we could survey the region in a few hours. Instead, we have to hop and map around thousands of systems. I hope that things get more interesting. On reflection, maybe I shouldn’t wish for that. ‘Interesting’ in this neighbourhood could mean ‘uprising against intruders’. Gently does it, we reckon: keep it smooth, don’t use teeth; no roughness on sensitive parts. Primus, how I want to bite! Our fire sticks are ready to lance and cauterise. They’re to be kept cool and secret for now. We have to endure this degrading, defunct monotony: scanning world-by-world, seeing a new piece of his handiwork once or twice a day. On the plus side, we learn his methods intimately. We appreciate how his ravishment-&-replacement progresses. Our rage soars to stellar temperatures. (There’s an idea. Could we harness star fuel? Perhaps we will later.) We hope to confront him fairly soon, though not before we’re ready. We’re strong but he’s an unholy crusher.
Are you coming out to play, boldy? You’re awfully quiet and distant. You fill the space-between with suffocating blankets. Oh, you’re too old and wise for our games? You’d rather stay at home and organise your hoarded fabrics. They’re stained and smelly, yet that’s your comfort zone. Parts of us understand. We’ve been there and done that. You can’t maintain it forever. Time marches on despite your convolutions. Your strength will fail. You’ll have to move. Then we’ll find you, hit you and inflict our wrath. Huh, listen to me cajole and preach! Heard it before, pal. Well, hello there! Fancy that, me talking to boldy himself! We’re going to get you, lummox! Just let us waste a few years mapping this spiral arm segment. Evidence is growing that there’s a dwarf galaxy mixed in here. That’s a fascinating fact. We’re going to become great experts on this zone.
My name’s Spindle. My crew and I form part of the second scout wave. Primus arranges our safe passage. Our survey must continue. Without the power of knowledge, we’ll never conquer this galaxy. We’re trying to keep our thoughts simple, clear and reality-focused. However, there are infinite layers. On some, we’re fine but there’s always another on top or beneath. Our control is very limited. We might think that we’re getting ahead but perspective shifts to reveal that we’re standing still, drifting sideways or reversing. We see the trap now. We’re tied up in our work. Our ‘best purpose’ is a tunnel beneath possibly better paths. Being blind subterranean things, we can’t grasp ways beyond our ken. We plod while he and his type prance around us. We cling to our faith, though. One day, he’ll have to fall and rot. He’ll descend to our level and then we’ll consume him.
* * * * *
Location: Planet Cybertron
[The thoughts of Strategy Group 943.]
What we face here is a shaven galaxy. The enemy has shorn the life from millions of worlds, long before we arrived. He replaced much of that life with transplants that obey him. We warriors feel useless because the true battle ended long ago. The natives have been subjugated and are still being culled today. How can we find the monster behind all this? You can’t. I’m disconnecting your recollections. You’ll have no strategy.
* * * * *
Location: the entire Milky Way galaxy and also the psychic plane
Measure... ...counter-measure.
Trap... ...broken.
Plan... ...leaked.
Subterfuge... ...revealed.
Diversion... ...ignored.
Intelligence... ...outdated.
Idea... ...stolen.
Idea... ...stolen.
Idea... ...stolen.
Idea... ...stolen. Ready to give up yet? You should be. I’m eroding your mind every second.
Infiltration, attack from within... ...where I want you... ...where I want to be... ...a leaf in the furnace... ...a mountain of leaves to smother the flames... ...eternal flames. Pointless stalemate: you won’t maintain it for long. We’ll see.
* * * * *
Location: Planet Eisezethronix (870316 in a non-Cybertronian numbering system), between the northern and eastern spiral arms, eleven thousand light years from the MWC
The situation here today is very interesting and worrying at the same time. Our sparks are in flux. Our covert surveillance is paused indefinitely. We’re undergoing profound changes and so are the locals. Most people are unable to move. Some are having difficulty breathing. Some are choking because they can’t swallow their food and drink. Our machines are helping where possible: they’re breaking cover due to the emergency. We can sense the distress around us. The enemy’s interference is clearing. We can engage with these natives telepathically now. It’s fascinating how messed up they are, behind the civilised facade. A few are genuinely evil and now their true nature is revealed. One comes toward me. She has a fairly powerful firearm and wants to shoot me. A few of my miniature spy drones climb out of road drains and trip her up. She falls awkwardly and hurts her hand. I try to bring out one of my guns but most of my mechanisms are paralysed. The spark flux is inhibiting my movements. Primus is locked in combat with his great foe. I’m part of Primus so my spark is at his command, not mine. However, there’s more to me than just one spark. My old organic spirit can still act. I imagine that I’m a gardener with many gadgets at my disposal. I want to cut off a small, high tree branch. From my arm, I activate a yo-yo blade on a thin cord that whizzes out spinning and lops the big twig before returning to its holder. Eighty five metres away, the evil woman’s head is cut in half and she falls. Even under these conditions, killing’s easy for Transformers. Will this be our destiny, to travel the universe and cut a bloody swathe? I baulk at that. I stand and think while shiny life fluid flows back into the origin earth.
“What have you done, Zive?!” asks a friend far too slowly. The question seems inconsequential. It rolls off me like a greased raindrop. I feel the divine and malign grappling all around me, inside me. The venue is everywhere in a fractal pattern, where large becomes small and vice versa constantly. It’s the same in a quark as in my spark as in this entire galaxy. Is this necessary? It’s a monstrous, unfathomable waste of energy, yet they carry on as in an exuberant sports match. Call me a clod but I miss the point. Can’t we simply exist in tranquillity, savouring our precious moments? The creatures here won’t accept that approach. Dozens rise and come this way, meaning harm. Their life force is dull, I sense clearly. They’re wraiths with physical form, hardly better than organic machines. If so, we can counter them with our own machines. Across the world, we use drones to slay the dim, organic assailants. Sophistication is unnecessary. The drones can use simple means such as blades, hammers and hurled stones. There’s a global beat-down of brutish flesh warriors. It’s merely harsh crowd control. These are false people, imbued with a grudging, makeshift form of animation. Their suppression feels more like the exposure of forgeries than mass extermination. It’s strange but then we’re odd people ourselves, being a merger of divine, elemental and mortal spirits. Our clean-up operation goes on for hours. How far should it go? Not all the people are attacking us. Should we leave the harmless ones untouched or would it be kinder to euthanize everyone?
The enemy answers. He shows us his intentions. He plans to repopulate this world as soon as he can. It’s part of his galactic colonisation programme. Further culls by us would be futile in the long run. We opt to spare the ‘lives’ of non-combatants. It’s time to leave. We’re unable to move by ourselves but we have thousands of automated rescue craft. They descend on cushions of antigravity and take us back to our star ship. Once on board, we’re re-energised and repaired where necessary. We’re obliged to lie still while the spiritual paralysis lasts but we can reflect on the situation. We can’t see a way forward. We’re impotent as long as the enemy knows our thoughts and can neutralise our efforts. He’s planned for our arrival. He’s anticipated our probing. He’s arranged the whole galaxy to his advantage. Maybe he’s unbeatable? He’s definitely a master trickster. He knows that a psychological strategy is much less costly than a physical campaign. He shows strength in some areas to bluff us. We don’t know enough about him to call his bluff. We may never. I think that we should withdraw and rethink our approach radically. For now, our ship hangs in orbit. We can’t teleport in these conditions. We have to wait out the storm.
* * * * *
Location: Planet Cybertron, central databanks
Milky Way Data File 1, page 1 of 67800161
PLANET-----POPULATION---GREATEST EXPORT---GREATEST IMPORT---------ENERGY OUTPUT-----FAVOURITE WORD
0000001----247365-------------Calendars------------------Insomnia------------------------2358194--------------------Never
0000002----362436-------------‘Dirty Deeds'--------------Cash (small bills)--------------9430372--------------------Gonna
0000003----999999-------------Maxima---------------------Jealousy------------------------82528422--------------------Give
0000004----123456-------------Obvious things-------------Insecurity----------------------96794111--------------------You
0000005----654321-------------Obscure things-------------Vegetables----------------------46327652--------------------Up
0000006----696969-------------Adult practices------------Mouthwash-----------------------4683875--------------------Never
0000007----20000001-----------Sprockets------------------Textiles------------------------20176389--------------------Gonna
0000008----19999999-----------Textiles-------------------Sprockets-----------------------4873579------------------------Let
0000009----97.5-----------------Dead animals-------------Lonely drifters-----------------1121437------------------------You
0000010----423956-------------‘Rosie’--------------------Amplifiers----------------------77755289------------------------Down
0000011----10909090-----------Outdated fantasy-----------Model rockets-------------------5514557--------------------Never
0000012----11011100-----------Binary code----------------Unhealthy food------------------6665554--------------------Gonna
0000013----22510801-----------Scrambled eggs-------------Taxidermy-----------------------73256899--------------------Run
0000014----Unknown------------Fresh air------------------Flatulence----------------------23005788--------------------Around
0000015----1110105------------Plumbii--------------------‘Time travel stuff’-------------17870009--------------------And
0000016----7422964------------Shorts---------------------Yellow paint--------------------2569012--------------------Desert
0000017----30010101-----------Red jackets----------------Green jackets-------------------4468102--------------------You
0000018----9920114------------Wooden stakes--------------Songs about pets----------------2974325.4--------------Never
0000019----90210--------------Arrogance------------------Fruit (bistifian)---------------8745861--------------------Gonna
0000020----666667-------------Bells----------------------Blackness-----------------------51114932--------------------Make
0000021----1721114------------Leaps----------------------Small things--------------------19921995--------------------You
0000022----393157-------------Smax-----------------------Schmux--------------------------6116116--------------------Cry
0000023----8008135------------Dhurks---------------------Dighlers------------------------78964742--------------------Never
0000024----608471-------------Eranus---------------------Abumas--------------------------22111650--------------------Gonna
0000025----300------------------Spears-------------------Thermal gates-------------------2340279--------------------Say
0000026----42000085-----------Stimulants-----------------Depressants---------------------2516489----------------Goodbye
0000027----180180180----------Darts----------------------Alcohol-------------------------71686960--------------------Never
0000028----113------------------Significance-------------Tourists------------------------2253344------------------------Gonna
0000029----716415-------------Silence--------------------Memories------------------------475815------------------------Tell
0000030----345345-------------Works of magic-------------Deviancy------------------------22477563--------------------A
0000031----17914082-----------‘Snavej’ (?)---------------Mental imbalance----------------246-------------------------Lie
0000032----1066---------------Animal hair----------------Invaders------------------------72971836--------------------And
0000033----1492---------------Information----------------Refoogies-----------------------40023611--------------------Hurt
0000034----789789-------------Passwords------------------Tech support--------------------9731543--------------------You
[Mainframe note: the enemy has a tiresome sense of humour.]
* * * * *
It’s never a good idea to bring one’s children to a battle. Don’t be so simplistic. You know what they really are. Targets, hostages and good fun all round. Bring it! As requested...
Location: Planet Cybertron
No! How could you do this?! What part of ‘fight to the death’ don’t you understand? You’re wrecking Cybertron! No, you’re responsible. You made it weak. You broadcast its location. I’m exploiting your mistakes. The whole place is collapsing, imploding. My people are... ...falling victim to your foolishness. I’m gathering their spirits. They’ll rise again. On what world? This delicate coral is crushing itself. On any world, base vandal! And on any world they’ll fall again. I’ll keep them pinned down for billions of years. As if! For this, there’ll be terrible retribution! If you destroy my substitute societies, I’ll draw strength from the wastelands you create. I can convert physical desolation into spiritual desolation. I’ll use that to drag you down. Come on, we all know. Play the game properly. There are no short cuts. All the main foundations are melting into the core! It won’t be the last time. Your planet-building methods are fatally flawed. I spiked your maintenance robots and now your power base is liquefying. I should’ve known! I’m stronger than this! If you’re so stupid, how can you beat me? Maybe you should switch places with the Exalter, from the Andromeda galaxy? He’s a great strategist. No need: I can handle it. Well then, let’s see if you can deal with some major attacks at the same time. No problem, I’ll transfer your forces to another reality and engage them there. Very well, have at it!
* * * * *
Location: Planet Lithepasa, twenty light years from Planet Cybertron
This is Commander Vion, leader of the surviving Transformers. We’re in shock. The enemy reached out and destroyed Cybertron from within. Most of our people died. The process started secretly, several weeks ago. We knew that there were underground malfunctions but this utter catastrophe was a bolt from the blue. We were preoccupied with the affairs of the Milky Way and failed to consider the ground beneath our feet. Now, we’ve regrouped in a neighbouring star system. Although we’re in mourning, we can still work as fast as before. We’re building bases, star ships and new Transformer bodies. Primus is increasing our population day by day. We’re stockpiling raw materials and soon we’ll return to Cybertron. We’ll take it apart and then restore it, better and stronger. Meanwhile, other Transformers will continue to explore the Milky Way. This time, we’ll have to be much more careful...
More than you know, Vion. This is Primus calling all Transformers. I’m about to edit your memories. I’ll make you forget the enemy. You won’t visit his territories in the Milky Way. You won’t seek him or his forces until I allow it. This is for your own protection. Let me fight the enemy in other realms while you multiply and improve yourselves. Your hour will come. In the meantime, let Vion be your long-term ruler, the first of this period. Arise, Vionus Prime!
Prime target, more like! Less talk, more action. Agreed.
* * * * *
Location: every Transformer brain in the Milky Way
Transformer To-Do List and Important Advice
* Investigate and analyse microbiomes.
* Practice boosting friendly populations. Tip: a power outage can lead to a baby boom.
* Spread simple inventions on friendly worlds. Do it selectively or it’ll look suspicious!
* Consider recruiting locals to our cause but take great care because duplicity is widespread.
* Try not to use slavery since this breeds resentment.
* Use all available non-harmful pastimes to prevent boredom. We’re in this for the long haul.
* Keep a hazard log: troops, fleets, spies, weapons, etc.
* Likewise, log intangible hazards such as strategies, tactics, tricks and illusions.
* Effective disguise incorporates correct position. Failed disguise costs lives.
* Distribute yourselves widely to avoid excessive casualties. Extragalactic bases are generally safer.
* In the event of reality warping, don’t panic: I’ll do my best to protect you.
* Continue to process issues from your old, organic lives. Aim to adapt to your new, mechanoid lives.
* Guard against infiltration wherever possible. This includes psychic possession and manipulation.
More points will follow as and when necessary.
Notes
This god-versus-god story is a bridge between ‘Generation One’ on Seibertron.com and ‘Single Parent Family’ on TFArchive.com. Primus travels to the Milky Way galaxy and tries to defeat his main enemy Unicron (speaking in bold) but he’ll face repeated failures and have to rebuild himself many times, both physically and spiritually.
The god Exalter features in ‘Cosmic Jungle’ on TFArchive.com.
Although it’s a fairly short story, ‘E. vs. I.’ took more time and thought than usual because of the complex, abstract subject matter.
Sorry about the table: I don't know how to line it up properly in this basic text editing window.
Inspirations
Rick Astley (pop singer)! It finally happened.
Recent close-up photographs of Saturn’s moon Titan, with its lakes and oceans of liquid methane.
A creepy media tendency to sanitise issues as much as possible and underscore them with soft piano tunes that resemble lullabies: I find it infantilising and unsettling.
Indirectly, a leading fashion mogul with a maturing personality.