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fandomweekly2024-11-16 06:35 pm
autobotscoutriella) wrote in fandomweekly2024-11-16 06:35 pm
Entry tags:
[#240] Alien Stars (Transformers Bayverse)
Theme Prompt: 240 - Future
Title: Alien Stars
Fandom: Transformers - AU Bayverse
Rating/Warnings: G / None
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 953
Summary: When the evacuation from a dying Cybertron goes wrong, Elita One and her team face an uncertain future.
Everywhere Elita looked, there were stars. Unknown, unmapped stars in unfamiliar constellations, written across alien skies as far as the optic could see. Distant nebulae dusted flickers of pink and blue and gold across the blackness of distant space, faint splashes of color only visible with the right optical filters.
It was beautiful. If they had to crash-land on an asteroid, at least they'd found one with a decent view.
It was beautiful, and it was wrong.
Somewhere behind them (or what passed for 'behind' on an oversized asteroid, turning slowly in cold vacuum), Cybertron hung dead in space, a cold ball of steel and stone and the ruins of what had once been home.
She could have seen it, or at least its familiar star, if she'd turned the right way. She didn't.
What was the point, when she knew what she would see?
“Commander,” Chromia said quietly from behind her. Elita jerked her attention back to the present, suppressing an unexpected wince at the title.
Commander. What did that title mean, when there might be no Autobot Command left?
It didn't matter. Alien skies and existential dread could wait. If Chromia wanted her attention, there was news. As much as Elita might have liked to hope it was good, she'd never been an optimist.
“Report,” she said, and felt more than saw Chromia come to attention. “What's our status?”
“Dents and scrapes, nothing serious. Moonracer caught a bit of shrapnel to her gun arm. First Aid's patching her up and said it doesn't look too serious. We lost some of the power packs in the landing, but nothing we can't replace. Firestar's not back from her scouting run yet, but she called a check-in about fifteen minutes ago. The ship looks okay, but Electron's checking it out anyway.”
The tension in Elita's spine eased enough to let her turn. “And the Ark?”
“No signal, but that doesn't mean much. We're not putting off a distress signal right now either. Electron says give it twenty standard hours or so before we start making assumptions. I put Lancer and Greenlight on analyzing the asteroid - doubt there's much here we can use, but they'd know better than I would. Hope you don't mind.”
“Copy that.” It was exactly what Elita would have ordered – should have, if she hadn't allowed herself to get distracted by the stars. “Thank you. Well done.”
“'S what I'm here for,” Chromia said, and clapped her on the shoulder. “I got your back, you know that.”
“I know.” Elita returned the gesture, and let her hand linger on Chromia's shoulder. It was unprofessional, but they were alone. “How are you?“
“Eh.” Chromia waved a dismissive hand. “Same as everyone else.”
Elita raised a brow ridge, slowly. Chromia held her gaze for a moment, then sighed, head dropping. “I'm - tired. It'll hit me later. You know?”
“I know.”
Cybertron. The Ark. The other Autobots. Home.
“This is not the end,” Elita said, more for herself than because she thought Chromia needed to hear it. “There's too many Autobots for us to be the only survivors. There will be other escape pods, other shuttles, other ships. We'll find them, if they're out there.”
“Yeah, 'course we will.” Chromia covered Elita's hand on her shoulder with her own. “And if there's anything left of home to rebuild...”
If.
The image of Cybertron as Elita had last seen it lingered, a lifeless husk with even the surface lights flickering and dying. Even a planet, apparently, could turn gunmetal gray. Without the AllSpark, without the Prime, with nothing but her own team in the worst-case scenario –
They were soldiers, not diplomats, not construction workers. Soldiers without a war to fight – because the war was over, had been over the moment Cybertron died and there was nothing left to fight for, no matter how long it took the Decepticons to realize it – but soldiers all the same.
Chromia's hand was warm and solid and steady under her own. The alien stars overhead reflected in Chromia's plating and in her optics; Elita wondered if they did the same in her own.
If they were all that was left to rebuild Cybertron, then so be it. Duty didn't change just because they were alone in some alien asteroid belt.
She had Chromia, and Chromia had her. They had their team. They – all of them – had each other. Maybe that was all they needed.
“We'll rebuild it.” She made herself turn, slowly and deliberately, to look through the asteroid field. Cybertron's star shone cold and lonely, hanging in the darkness.
Home.
“Damn right,” Chromia said, and squeezed Elita's hand a little tighter. Elita wasn’t sure if it was meant to reassure her, or Chromia, or both. “And until then?”
“Until then?” Elita's gaze settled on the ship, and Electron's tiny form poking around the engines. All things considered, it had been the softest landing they could reasonably expect; their little ship looked intact enough, if scraped and battered. They weren't trapped on this rock.
When she checked her proximity radar, First Aid and Moonracer's signals flickered from inside, and Greenlight and Lancer's from the other side of the asteroid. Firestar wasn't close enough to show up in any detail, but her life signal blipped strong and steady on the long-range sensor. She had a good team. That was something to remember, out here under unfamiliar skies.
“Until then, we stay together, and we stay alive.”
“Copy that,” Chromia said. Only a few thousand years of experience let Elita hear the doubt in her voice.
She shared it. Eight mechs against a universe. Would it be enough?
Above them, alien constellations glittered on, cold and strange and unsettling.
Title: Alien Stars
Fandom: Transformers - AU Bayverse
Rating/Warnings: G / None
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 953
Summary: When the evacuation from a dying Cybertron goes wrong, Elita One and her team face an uncertain future.
Everywhere Elita looked, there were stars. Unknown, unmapped stars in unfamiliar constellations, written across alien skies as far as the optic could see. Distant nebulae dusted flickers of pink and blue and gold across the blackness of distant space, faint splashes of color only visible with the right optical filters.
It was beautiful. If they had to crash-land on an asteroid, at least they'd found one with a decent view.
It was beautiful, and it was wrong.
Somewhere behind them (or what passed for 'behind' on an oversized asteroid, turning slowly in cold vacuum), Cybertron hung dead in space, a cold ball of steel and stone and the ruins of what had once been home.
She could have seen it, or at least its familiar star, if she'd turned the right way. She didn't.
What was the point, when she knew what she would see?
“Commander,” Chromia said quietly from behind her. Elita jerked her attention back to the present, suppressing an unexpected wince at the title.
Commander. What did that title mean, when there might be no Autobot Command left?
It didn't matter. Alien skies and existential dread could wait. If Chromia wanted her attention, there was news. As much as Elita might have liked to hope it was good, she'd never been an optimist.
“Report,” she said, and felt more than saw Chromia come to attention. “What's our status?”
“Dents and scrapes, nothing serious. Moonracer caught a bit of shrapnel to her gun arm. First Aid's patching her up and said it doesn't look too serious. We lost some of the power packs in the landing, but nothing we can't replace. Firestar's not back from her scouting run yet, but she called a check-in about fifteen minutes ago. The ship looks okay, but Electron's checking it out anyway.”
The tension in Elita's spine eased enough to let her turn. “And the Ark?”
“No signal, but that doesn't mean much. We're not putting off a distress signal right now either. Electron says give it twenty standard hours or so before we start making assumptions. I put Lancer and Greenlight on analyzing the asteroid - doubt there's much here we can use, but they'd know better than I would. Hope you don't mind.”
“Copy that.” It was exactly what Elita would have ordered – should have, if she hadn't allowed herself to get distracted by the stars. “Thank you. Well done.”
“'S what I'm here for,” Chromia said, and clapped her on the shoulder. “I got your back, you know that.”
“I know.” Elita returned the gesture, and let her hand linger on Chromia's shoulder. It was unprofessional, but they were alone. “How are you?“
“Eh.” Chromia waved a dismissive hand. “Same as everyone else.”
Elita raised a brow ridge, slowly. Chromia held her gaze for a moment, then sighed, head dropping. “I'm - tired. It'll hit me later. You know?”
“I know.”
Cybertron. The Ark. The other Autobots. Home.
“This is not the end,” Elita said, more for herself than because she thought Chromia needed to hear it. “There's too many Autobots for us to be the only survivors. There will be other escape pods, other shuttles, other ships. We'll find them, if they're out there.”
“Yeah, 'course we will.” Chromia covered Elita's hand on her shoulder with her own. “And if there's anything left of home to rebuild...”
If.
The image of Cybertron as Elita had last seen it lingered, a lifeless husk with even the surface lights flickering and dying. Even a planet, apparently, could turn gunmetal gray. Without the AllSpark, without the Prime, with nothing but her own team in the worst-case scenario –
They were soldiers, not diplomats, not construction workers. Soldiers without a war to fight – because the war was over, had been over the moment Cybertron died and there was nothing left to fight for, no matter how long it took the Decepticons to realize it – but soldiers all the same.
Chromia's hand was warm and solid and steady under her own. The alien stars overhead reflected in Chromia's plating and in her optics; Elita wondered if they did the same in her own.
If they were all that was left to rebuild Cybertron, then so be it. Duty didn't change just because they were alone in some alien asteroid belt.
She had Chromia, and Chromia had her. They had their team. They – all of them – had each other. Maybe that was all they needed.
“We'll rebuild it.” She made herself turn, slowly and deliberately, to look through the asteroid field. Cybertron's star shone cold and lonely, hanging in the darkness.
Home.
“Damn right,” Chromia said, and squeezed Elita's hand a little tighter. Elita wasn’t sure if it was meant to reassure her, or Chromia, or both. “And until then?”
“Until then?” Elita's gaze settled on the ship, and Electron's tiny form poking around the engines. All things considered, it had been the softest landing they could reasonably expect; their little ship looked intact enough, if scraped and battered. They weren't trapped on this rock.
When she checked her proximity radar, First Aid and Moonracer's signals flickered from inside, and Greenlight and Lancer's from the other side of the asteroid. Firestar wasn't close enough to show up in any detail, but her life signal blipped strong and steady on the long-range sensor. She had a good team. That was something to remember, out here under unfamiliar skies.
“Until then, we stay together, and we stay alive.”
“Copy that,” Chromia said. Only a few thousand years of experience let Elita hear the doubt in her voice.
She shared it. Eight mechs against a universe. Would it be enough?
Above them, alien constellations glittered on, cold and strange and unsettling.
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