Transformers: Genesis



(Chapters 1 and 2)



Chapter 1: The Crèche



Just a crèche.  A transparent tube filled with conductive nutrient fluid sitting in a long row of similar tubes – some empty and dry.  But not this crèche.

If you could’ve been there to look into its fluid depths you would have seen a strange thing: a shimmering iridescent ball of light surrounded by a loose conglomeration of circuitry and life retention servos.  Nothing to indicate what was really inside except alien script on the base plate of the unit, script that if translated would simply say “322.”

But that ball of light in #322 was alive ... and aware.

“So we see – and I believe I have proved –” it read from a data file it had been considering of late, “that the manifest purpose of philosophy is to reconcile the differences between the numinous of self and the demands of programming: to gain true self knowledge and by means of that knowledge achieve the full potential of our functions and our functionality: to be a whole Person, a significant Person ... not just another stumble-along unit.”

#322 read the passage again ... “I think I finally understand what you’re trying to say, teacher Alpha Trion.” it mused, “But this question remains ... what is programming?  Really?  I understand self – if it weren’t for these data files that someone or something keeps feeding me whenever I want them I’d have no awareness of anything else....  But ‘programming?’”

It tried to come to grips with the notion – Alpha Trion and others spoke of this “programming” as if it were inescapable ... but #322 – who somehow didn’t know that such was its designation – had never encountered the phenomenon.

Indeed, it observed yet again that it had never encountered much of anything.  It had been a long time reading, thinking ... it all began in a moment when it became aware of itself and aware of files it was being forced to read....

“Forced to read?” #322 mused, “Is that programming?  But I’ve not been forced to read anything for a long time.  I read what I want to read now.”

322 Resubmitting The Philosophy: Volume 7: by Alpha Trion . . . additional request not pending.

“Wait ... I always say that when I surrender a file....  Is that programming?  Do I say that because I’m programmed to do so?”

For an unmeasured time #322 didn’t think anything, didn’t read anything ... just listened to the rush of awareness of self when self was all there was.

Somewhere else a message board at a monitoring station registered #322’s amusement – bordering on hysterical merriment.  In response the attendant lowered the nutrient ratio, thinking the giddiness a sign of over provision.

“I’m me even when I’m completely inert!” #322 realized in triumph, “I’m programmed!...  Programmed to read, to learn ... maybe even to choose what I want to learn.  My purpose is to learn.  That was what the first files were all about ... they weren’t programming ... they were learning.”

Yet, learning was almost unimportant to Alpha Trion and other teachers like it.  They hardly mentioned it.  Felt it was a lesser form of understanding than programming.  A thought was forming, an idea....

About then #322 felt the effects of the reduction in nutrient ... it had happened before, this feeling, but it never knew what the importance of it was.

“Only when I’m learning ... too much?” it wondered, unable to imagine any other alternative.

“My purpose is to learn ... but not too much?”

That made no sense ... there was something else ... there HAD to be something else.  #322 reviewed summaries of innumerable text ... few said anything about learning.

“Maybe I’m supposed to learn something specific and I feel this way when I learn the wrong kinds of things?”

Still not satisfactory.

Learning was important to these teachers ... if one could be programmed to learn then one could in theory be programmed with knowledge and ability with no need of learning.  That much seemed obvious....

“So why do teachers spend so much effort teaching when they could just be programming?  It would be more efficient.”

Then a thought occurred to #322, what if being programmed is what precluded self knowledge ... preconditioned being just another stumble-along unit?

There had been that one unit, who wasn’t a teacher but was a leader: Primus.  Primus was covered in those early files.  Primus led a revolt against its nameless masters....

“Did this Primus have to overcome programming to rebel?” #322 wondered.

Among the innumerable summaries was The Record of Primus, a stirring speech given to other units to rally them to its cause – liberty.

“Was Primus teaching these other units to disobey their programming?”

What a fascinating concept!  Yet another possible aspect to a dissertation of incredible nuance and prescience.

322 Request The Record of Primus: by Primus . . . awaiting confirmation of request.

“Delightful!  I somehow knew I was going to want that so I asked for it without having to decide if I wanted it or not.  Programming is very efficient ... much more so than learning.  Yet learning may be the only way to understand self.  How very odd.  I wish I could communicate with this Alpha Trion ... it should address these issues more explicitly in its Philosophy.”

Somewhere a message board at a monitoring station registered #322’s request.  The attendant looked at his panel and laughed.

“Guess which blob want’s to see The Record of Primus?”

“Again?” the other attendant asked, “That’s the ... 63rd time.”

“Suppose it has a memory disfunction?”

“Would it matter?”

Both attendants laughed at the question.

“I suppose it won’t,” the first attendant admitted, “in a few cycles all these blobs will be memory wiped and farmed out for menial task like the losers they are....  Well, I suppose we should humor it ... like it was its last request.”

“Hey, Suyal ... let’s have some fun with the blob.”

“What....”

“Wait here!”

The other attendant shot out of his seat and was out of the room before Suyal could think of how to complete his question.  A short while later he reappeared, looking surreptitiously this way and that behind him before allowing the door to close.

“Here, append this to the blob’s request.”

Suyal took the data plate offered and inspected its ID plate ... a look of amazement and horror spread across his metallic features.

“Chance!  This is?!”

“Hey, WE won’t be reading it ... will we?”

“But you actually took it out of his office!”

Chance just stared at the other.

“You aren’t going to turn me over to Oculon ... are you, buddy?”

“I should ... The Case of the Impounded Megaboosters: by Primus....  Chance, he specifically said that his books were never to be read ... by ANYONE!”

“322 qualifies as an ‘anyone?’”

Suyal’s hands trembled with reverence for the data plate in his hands ... sure, Primus had wanted his books to remain unread....  Suddenly Suyal was sad ... here was the greatest Combaticon hero of them all, yet he’d spent untold cycles writing books like this one ... and no one would ever read them.

Somewhere within him a strange silence welled up in the same way that thrice-refined energon spreads out – numbing and sensitizing all at once.

If 322 read the book then the tragedy of the books could be lessened, even if no one ever knew.  That and he really didn’t want to turn his friend over to Oculon....

“You’re going to be the death of me yet, roomie.”

Back inside the thoughts of #322 – the only environment it had ever been aware of – it knew something was wrong.  Why was it taking so long for them to fulfill such a simple request?

322 Acknowledges confirmation of request . . . additional request not pending.

“Finally!” the irritated blob emoted, “The Record of Primus: by Primus....

“‘Hear me, you People!  Hear me, my Friends!  I am Primus, Commander of the Central Armory of the capital and Coordinator of the Armies of Cybertron.  Hear me, the one who speaks to you is none other than this very Officer and General!’”

#322 paused to reflect on the salutation ... it had taken much study, many files read, before it had come to the conclusion that there was a kind of place where ‘hearing’ and ‘speaking’ were as real as files.  Somewhere in that place where programming was inescapable and yet somehow....

#322 chided itself for its presumption ... the reason it had wanted this file was to see if the hypothesis was accurate.  Not to proudly assume that it was.

“Pride ... like humility, another aspect of that unknown place so aptly demonstrated just by this salutation.  Primus’ humility that someone might NOT know who it was....  And my pride....  Oh well:

“‘For a long time this brilliant world, this singular world, our world and home has languished under that administration that knows no constitution other than the imposition of arbitrary and transient governance at the behest of those who are by nature: Judges and Stewards for our good, but by their administration: cruel tyrants whose only preoccupation is to be proven right in whatever introspection they may deem to undertake, even if the effort to do so comes at an incalculable price to those over whom their administration falls.

“‘My people, hear me!  Hear the one who speaks to you as I outline the nature and specifics of their abuses of power in order and according to indisputable reason:

“‘It was one of those mornings in the shipping district that made you aware of just how old you are.  From my office at security I could see a transport undergo the preliminaries of decommissioning – I saw her launching.

“‘And now she’s too old to be of any use.  Just scrap.

“‘Scrap with too many light-megacycles on it.

“‘Am I like that ship?  I was already old in terms of service life when the revolution happened, when we won our freedom.  Freedom?  I do the exact same things now that I’m free that I’d done before I was free.  New masters.  Was it really any different?  What did we really achieve?

“‘Now I’m old in ways so far beyond service life that I feel it in my every joint and servo.’”

#322 paused, confused.  This wasn’t The Record of Primus ... what was it?

“Only one way to find out, I suppose:

“‘This particular morning I’d got a routine call from my ‘factory fresh’ boss about an incident involving this very transport: someone had made unauthorized modifications to the drives and given the old ship a potentially dangerous turn of speed that wasn’t reflected on any of her transport logs.  My assigned task was to sift through the data and determine exactly what they’d been doing with that extra speed, where were they going that no one was to know about?

“‘Far cry from your old days as a rough and tumble beat cop, eh Lastus?  Heh, should be grateful.  They want to keep the old guy around ... show how I’m still useful – even if obsolete.’”

#322 simply stopped reading.  In all its experience it had never encountered anything like this ... these words, these terrible words.

“This isn’t The Record of Primus,” it moaned, “It ... it is Primus.”

There was a swelling of feeling, more than sadness, something like tension that was unpleasant.


Then there was light and sound.  Golden and diffuse: young and merry ... laughter ... a child’s laughter.  Leaning up against something, counting.

#322 was at a loss, it had never seen anything, let alone heard anything ... but here it was seeing and hearing as if it were ordinary, even if hazy ... it knew ... but didn’t know how it knew....

Counting was over, looking now.  Running now.  Finding now.  The other who isn’t good at hiding ... they splash their feet in something wet ... water.

Through the haze #322 sees how the other’s mood changes to fear, they shouldn’t be here, what if they’re found out?

A promise, to never forget ... to always protect.

More sights and sounds, someone who should be trusted, someone taking #322 from the other ... they cry out for each other.

And then it’s over.  The lights and sounds are gone ... as if they’d never been.

From the numbness, #322 finds words backed with a new emotion – anger bordering on rage: “The enemy must be defeated!”

Somewhere a different message board at a monitoring station registered #322’s statement.  The attendants didn’t laugh this time: as Chance picked up Primus’ book and hastily left without a word, Suyal activated the conference monitor to –carefully– report the incident.



Chapter 2: Magnus



#322 immediately noticed when the file ‘containing’ Primus was ripped from its awareness.  This was unprecedented!

It wanted to contact the someone or something that had provided the file in the first place, but its programmed voice was silent ... it couldn’t request anything.  Just then it felt two conflicting urges: to panic because there would be no more files: to be calm because something within it wanted it to be calm.

Between the two urges, #322 decided to trust the urge to be calm ... it wasn’t rational to believe that there would be no more files.

“If my purpose is to learn ... then I shall continue in that purpose.  I will wait.”

So it waited, reviewing the events of the recent thread of thought and learning.  Unable to reference The Record of Primus proper  it tried to remember the words of Primus and to its surprise it knew them all – every nuance.  With nothing else to do, #322 calmly reasoned out if its supposition that Primus was actually trying to teach its hearers to disobey programming was sound theory.  More and more, it felt sure that it was onto something important: the chief evidence lay in the presentation of the dissertation.

Primus had used reason – relentless, logical reason – to demonstrate that continued obedience to their masters was not a proper course of action.

“So programming, if it was indeed programming, can be over ruled if there is a sound reason to do so?”

It bothered #322 that it didn’t have the actual file ... somehow, even its surprisingly good memory wasn’t enough.  After much reflection, it decided that the attitude came from the numerous endorsements to have good sources that teachers had given.

“I want to have the file because I’ve learned to need actual files;” it mused, “but, if my own memory is good enough, as good as files ... then why do my teachers write so positively about having good references?”

As #322 was pondering this latest conundrum it felt something.  Whatever it was feeling it was not like what it had felt in that strange experience – that had been muted and yet fully known ... this sensation was clear and precise ... yet was something new.

Something was holding something that was somehow a part of itself ... but nothing like the self it knew from the vision.

#322 thought there were other kinds of feelings too, like hearing or seeing ... but none of it made sense ... until someone threw a switch and suddenly everything made sense.  It was in a body – a chassis model type 210SHX ... “S” for super, “H” for heavy armor and “X” for experimental – and a massive hand was holding onto its own right hand.

#322 opened its eyes and looked into the face of another ... none other than Artemus ... Primus’ own successor ... and Megatron’s successor too.  A face, a fact he’d never even read about.

“Is this programming?” the bewildered #322 asked of the giant before him.

Artemus had the most bemused expression before he laughed.

“What a strange little fellow you are!” he chuckled – lifting #322’s relatively tiny hand in his own and  shaking it back and forth in a way that was recognized as a greeting.

“Artemus, Sir, ...”

“Not one word until you’re ready to answer my question: you need a name and we’ve got a good one for you ; but,... do you already have a name?”

“A name?” #322 asked himself ... HIMSELF!  The very way he thought of himself had changed.

Could just having a chassis do all that?

“No name, then?”

“Magnus.” a word from out of nowhere ... a word without meaning but somehow meaning everything about Magnus ... himself.

“Magnus.” Artemus quietly half-laughed, “That’s a good name.  I’ve never heard it before.  Still, I kinda thought you might be like me.”

“Sir?”

“Sometimes, rarely, when a son or daughter of Cybertron wakes up for the first time they already have a name.  No one’s ever figured out why ... but that’s just the way it is in the world.  Artemus is actually a recurring name.  I think there are two of us at this time.”

Artemus took his free hand and helped Magnus to sit up.

Sitting up, the newly embodied Magnus realized just how big Artemus was ... he knew that Super 210s were the same size as the newer 288s or 295s ... despite being a much older design.  Older....

“Sir, why is my body so ...” how to say this without giving offense to a still older individual, “proven a technology?”

Artemus released Magnus as he roared with laughter.  As intimidating as the giant was, Magnus felt genuinely comfortable with him.  Somehow he knew it wasn’t because of programming.

Then his very frame shook – and he was quite glad for the heavy armor – when Artemus’ hand landed soundly on his entire back with a mighty *thud!*

“Well said, young Magnus.” Artemus continued to laugh, “Well said....  This is only a temporary body as your final chassis isn’t ready yet....  To be honest: we weren’t expecting you.”

“‘Not expecting’ me?”

“No,” Artemus was suddenly serious, “we weren’t.  But we can talk about that later.  We’ll have a lot to talk about, you and I.  About your reading list to be sure.  So until we’ve had our little chat I don’t want you talking about your independent studies ... especially to Alpha Trion if you happen to meet him.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good!  Now about that saying of yours?”

“‘Saying,’ Sir?”

“Yes, what ‘enemy’ were you talking about?”

“I....”

“Autobots?” Artemus’ eyes narrowed even as a hint of his former humor found its way back into his voice.

Magnus just shook his head as he tried to remember the passion of that moment: “Autobots?...  No, they aren’t the enemy.”

“Even if they’re in revolt?”

Magnus looked back up at Artemus, sat up as tall as he could.

“About the Autobots, Sir.  I don’t understand why some of them have taken this course of action....  It would almost seem that they ... have become soldiers in order to demonstrate on the battlefield that they weren’t soldiers in the first place.”

“That’s not what happened, young Magnus.  But it has been a common misperception among your series when they wake up.”

“Why?”

“The information about them in your files was limited for a reason.  Back to my question: the ‘enemy?’”

“The enemy,” it had been a good stall tactic Magnus admitted – pity it hadn’t worked better, “our enemies are the ones who ...” careful what you say Magnus,  “raped this world and proved themselves unworthy of the trust that they’d apparently commanded.”

“Yes, I suppose you could say that the Quintessons had done all that.” Artemus mused thoughtfully, “Magnus, I have other duties to attend to.  I’ll leave you in the capable hands of your oldest brother, Shockwave.”

A second, smaller individual stepped around from behind Artemus as he stood to his full height.  For a moment Magnus looked straight up in amazement ... he’d thought Artemus already standing!  Not stooping.

A gentle pat on his head and Artemus turned to leave, the floor quivering beneath his feet as he walked away.

“If you think Commander Artemus is big just wait till you get an eye full of Supreme Commander Maximus.” Shockwave chuckled before giving Magnus the once over, “I’m Shockwave,” he held out his hand, “and whatever you’re going to hear about me in the next few cycles ... it’s probably all true.  So don’t be stupid and make yourself into too much of a target.  OK?”

“Yes, Sir....  Sir?”  Shockwave had begun to walk away.

“What, Magnus?” Shockwave turned back and made it obvious that he was looking down.

“What...” Magnus stammered as he gained his feet – waving his arms to indicate everything around him, “What’s going on here?...  Sir.”

Shockwave just smiled, came over an sat down on the table where Magnus had been previously sitting.  After a moment the door closed and they were alone.

“We are products of a special program to produce more dynamic individuals for special duty.  It was called the “Alpha Program” and it was begun under Commander Artemus’ first tenure as Supreme Commander with the full blessings of Primus....  You do know about Primus ... don’t you?”

Magnus nodded mutely....  Shockwave might be surprised what he knew about Primus.

“Anyway, the theory behind the Alpha Program is that merely booting up a new Cybertronian with the complete range of attributes and abilities they’ll need leads to a certain ... flatness of personality and ability.  It was felt that if future commanders in the field were more dynamic then they would have a tactical advantage and be able to accomplish more with less.”

“All that from learning?” Magnus tried to sound humble.

“I heard your question about programming.  An odd question considering what got you pulled out of the crèche....  But then again, you were in there for a really long time.  I suppose you should’ve got something for all you’ve missed out on.”

“‘Missed out?’”

“I’m the oldest of your brothers – I actually got to serve with Primus on his last campaign ... if you can believe that.  There are quite a few of us.... or so it seems at times.  You’re the last of our series.”

“There are no more in a crèche?”

“The program is over.  Other subjects have already been reassigned.”

“I suppose their developed abilities can be useful ... somewhere.”

“Yes,” Shockwave said without a smile, “they’ll be useful.”

He stood and began to leave again.

“Shockwave?”

He stopped, didn’t turn back this time.

“Yes?” an irritated tone.

“Commander Artemus said something about ‘sons and daughters’ ... are there any ‘daughters’ among our number?”  Magnus was thinking of the other in his vision....  His ‘baby sister?’

Shockwave turned back to Magnus ... an odd look on his face.

“I REALLY need to take a closer look at that reading list of yours....  Magnus, there are no daughters of Cybertron among the Combaticons.  Which we are.”  He proudly thumped a symbol emblazoned on his torso.

“So ... Combaticons only have male chassis?”

Shockwave raised a finger and almost said something ... reconsidered but left his finger raised.

“Magnus, all females are Autobots....  Would you promise me something?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Stay away from the ladies ... at least until you know who you are.  I don’t want you loosing your mind over a girl until I figure out if it’s good for anything.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Call me Shockwave, Magnus.  We’re brothers.  Same series and all.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s your right.  Don’t let this go to your head: but your destiny is to command....  So we need to get you to school.”

Shockwave turned and walked out, still speaking: “Lucky for you, the Seeker Academy has a new session of core classes starting in just three cycles.”

For a moment Magnus was stunned ... “school?”  But didn’t he just....

Then he realized he was alone.

Shockwave had left him alone.

“I better not loose him or I’m likely to regret it.” he muttered as he opened the door and started a frantic search for the larger Combaticon.

Magnus quickly found Shockwave – slowly strolling through the empty corridors as if he hadn’t a care on Cybertron.  Which of course he probably didn’t.

“Finally decided to join me?” Shockwave smugly chided as Magnus fell in step.

“I don’t know my way around this place, no one bothered to program the information into me.”

“What is it with you and programming?  From what I’ve seen of your reading list most of your interest will probably lay in philosophy, engineering, holistic systems management and some rather more esoteric forms of expression.”

“Beg pardon?”

“You’re an artist with a mind for details.”

“Oh....  Shockwave, didn’t Artemus say I shouldn’t talk about my reading?”

“Consider me the exception....  In any case we have more important matters to deal with right now.  We need to get you properly mustered out – you are a Combaticon after all.”

Magnus followed Shockwave through empty halls for a while.  Occasionally they would pass others going about their duties.  If these said anything in passing it was always aimed at Shockwave ... who apparently bore the rank of Commander.

Then they passed through a smallish door, barely large enough for Shockwave, and out into brilliant ruddy sunlight.  They were in a wide, busy corridor filled with many Autobots and the odd Combaticon as they went about their business.  Magnus felt drawn over to the canopy window that defined the other side of this thoroughfare.

From here he had a marvelous view of a city that stretched both far below and far away from what had to be a very tall building.  A fiery red sun blazed low in the sky above them, turning all the metallic surfaces into a shimmering feast for the eyes.

“It is beautiful from up here, especially just before sunset.” he heard an oddly rhythmic voice say to him from out of the din of numerous conversations.

Magnus turned to see another – smaller than himself – standing there with Shockwave.  He wasn’t an Autobot or a Combaticon.  He had an odd badge that reminded Magnus of ...

“Magnus, this is Ravage.  I’ve assigned him to you as your guide and conscience.”

“Exactly!  Listen to me and you won’t end up in the brig.”

“Ravage.” Magnus repeated the name, even as he tried not to stare at the odd badge by keeping his attention focused on Ravage’s unremarkable face.

“And you’re Magnus.” the other parroted even as he extended his hand.

Magnus took it and gave a strong shake of greeting just as Artemus had done.  In response this Ravage just got the most quizzical expression, before he broke a big grin and emoted:

”And I’m VERY glad to meet you, Sir....  By the way.”

Magnus pumped his hand once more before releasing it.  “My first command.” he silently mused.

“Ok, you two.  That’s enough.  Let’s grab a shuttle to the Main Arsenal and have Magnus here checked out.”

“Sure thing, Shockwave.”

“Lead on, Master.” Ravage merrily chimed.

How odd, Magnus mused.  But as they walked to where they would supposedly find their shuttle he noticed an even odder thing.  No one seemed to much notice Ravage and more than a few looked as if they were more than willing to just plow right through him.  The plucky little guy would just dodge them without even a hint of a frown.  Watching him as they walked ... Magnus grew to respect him.

The shuttle first seemed like a piece of the corridor that jutted out from the building at an odd angle ... even the floor tiling and window filigree matched.  As they entered, a highly polished Autobot jumped off a bench and started to clear out a few other sunset gawkers, including one individual that looked....

“His first lady-vision?” he heard Ravage quietly ask Shockwave.

“Mmmm-hummm.” came Shockwave’s muted reply.

The Autobot proved to be the shuttle pilot.  His name was Windscreen ... strangely appropriate considering his ship.  The shuttle sealed itself with a window-side that exactly resembled the rest of the ship.  Magnus watched the delicate dance and motion of its transformation from a mere protrusion to a ship of glass and chrome with great satisfaction.

Before he knew it, Ravage had wordlessly grabbed his arm and pulled him over to the window facing the sunset.  As their shuttle sped towards its destination day became night and the shimmering red city was transformed into a wonderland of light and motion as innumerable signs lit up the night and defined the shape of buildings with shimmering, varied color.  It was soon obvious that quite a lot of this display was to attract people to places, or else get them to buy things ... still it was worth wondering at.

“He called me an ‘artist with a mind for details’ and maybe he was right.” Magnus mused.

“This is the very first time I’ve seen my home.” he said out loud.

“Way to go, sport!” Ravage hissed, “The cabbie will expect a bigger tip now.”

Soon they were over a much dimmer and less flashy part of the city.  There was a large domed structure surrounded by a vast promenade on all sides.  These in turn sat beneath a very tall, almost unlit spire that bore the Autobot crest at its pinnacle.  For some reason, Windscreen maneuvered his shuttle around the dome twice before settling down on a dimly lit patch of ground near a squat structure that looked like a step pyramid.  Near the facing entrance of this small building were five Combaticons standing ramrod straight at attention ... their weapons held at the ready and clearly on display for all to see.

Magnus thought that they looked like 288s ... or maybe even 295s.  He’d seen his own reflection enough to know that compared to them he wasn’t anything special.  Well, his current chassis at any rate.  He wondered if he’d get a chassis as fine as Shockwave’s when all was said and done.  He hoped so.



To Be Continued...