So, yeah, it's pretty convoluted. So, today, is Our Hero. The title nagged at me for a while, and then this guy crawled into my head one day and whispered threats involving the Requiem Blaster if I didn't give it to him.
A general giving of thanks for reviews and reviewers and readers of everything and anything.
One's Own Devices
Well, this is certainly new.
I must confess that I have never been treated – or used – in quite this way before. I have been hunted, I have been mistreated, and I have been hailed for my mental power and/or my insights. I have suffered and I have been flattered, been deemed worthy of respect, of admiration and at times contempt. Yet now, when never before, perhaps, have so many and such powerful people considered me so valuable, it is in a way and for a reason that are both, quite frankly, bizarre.
Well, I find it absurd beyond belief. Both Autobots and Decepticons have had us serving with or under them, and both have completely and absolutely missed the point.
Perhaps I should spell it out more fully; the others are always telling me that my speech is too convoluted for most people's understanding. To be blunt, both sides have at one time or another been in command of three extremely capable and supremely skilled scientists, including one who has been recognised as one of the greatest scientific intellects ever to come from our planet (and what other kind might they recognise?) and two who are so, regardless of their acumen often passing unnoticed by the less observant.
And in what way, you might ask, have they made use of this advantage? I'll tell you. Brace yourself: it is indescribably ridiculous. They have used us…
…as a gun.
Careful, don't laugh too hard! It's madness, really, I know. Sometimes I think it will drive me mad. Then again, I suspect they think that I already am: they don't understand my amusement from time to time. And the same goes for my teammates. I sometimes seem to be allowed a little leeway, mostly, I think, because people are used to being unable to understand me. I am expected to be a 'genius' and therefore beyond their understanding, my team-mates not necessarily to match me. It does them gross injustice, since as I know well, they are not only capable and valuable partners, but far more intelligent than those who ignore them.
Nevertheless, it is somewhat depressing that otherwise perfectly intelligent and reasonable individuals are so easily dazzled by a few lights and explosions. Yes, our combined form is a remarkably powerful weapon, but really, that is all! Given some time I could certainly improve upon the design, and we have spent a million years in stasis, or so I gather. The technological advances that must have been made in that time… Don't they realise that by now our current design is hopelessly out of date (and would certainly be considered so, had we remained to be upgraded time and again)?
Of course, few people have ever known much about the Requiem Blaster, and it is yet a novelty to them. Sooner or later they must surely realise that something is amiss, though…
Ahem. As I was saying, we find it rather upsetting at times that our entire worth is measure according to a gun we have been… in possession of… for the last few million years. We would quite like to be permitted to move on, since we have learned since then. We would be gratified if either faction could see their way to viewing us as an asset beyond forming an obsolete super weapon that, honestly, is only one example of our handiwork.
They think its powers are incredible, which is true, but how would they know? They have only used it on each other thus far. Apparently it has been described as able to 'shoot clear across the galaxy' and as a qualified astrophysicist, I can grasp something of the vast distances and energies that that would involve. The Requiem Blaster probably could perform such a feat, or at least summon the power that would be needed to do so; the Autobots and Decepticons certainly appear to believe that it could. They have seen it turn landscapes to craters, vaporise sections of ocean and blast its way through an unfortunate Autobot. (Needless to say, we were relieved to discover that he survived the incident in question. Barely, of course, but even so…). And despite all of this, they have yet to perceive any incongruities… oh, I despair of them sometimes, I really do.
Why? Oh, of course, silly me. How could you know? Allow me to explain. The most ironic, ludicrous aspect of this all is that the gun they are so entranced by isn't even operating at full strength. Not by a long shot. Oh, dear, excuse the unintentional pun, but all of this does amuse me so. I mean, they take us for granted, and so we take advantage of them, in a sense. After all, we're hardly doing our best by them. But why should we?
They fail to wonder that an object with the power to shoot clear across the galaxy does no more than mar the landscape with such scars as they could themselves create, should they care to. They do not notice that evaporating water is hardly a difficult trick, when a blaster of such power would be capable of sublimating solid rock. It never crosses their minds that had their friend – as is supposed – faced the full might of the Requiem Blaster, common sense suggests that he should have been vaporised, not merely… well, it is hard to refer to such damage to another transformer as 'mere' anything, but the fact remains: Smokescreen should have died.
Why didn't he? Because while most are content to assume that we relinquish conscious thought when we combine, that we become a mere object to be used as they see fit, a moment's thought would show them that that could never be the case. How would we be able to detach into our separate forms when the gestalt was no longer required? No, we do not lose consciousness when we merge; rather the reverse: we each gain that of the other two, become one mind and one intellect. The Requiem Blaster, as any one of us will tell you, is very much aware.
And like any being, our gestalt can control its form. Admittedly, much of that is my doing. With the help of my partners, I adapted the combiner to possess some power over itself, or at least more than that which it had. And we, when merged, regulate and restrain the might of the weapon that armies seek to possess. I must point out that it is only good sense. Can you imagine the recoil that its full force might produce? Do you have any idea what the release of such energies, unchecked, could do to the atmosphere? We do, and that is why we refuse to let such a thing happen. It curbs its might and checks its wrath; it is, in fact, a pacifistic weapon. We don't mind fighting, and we are willing to do so if the goal is peace, but we know that often we will have little or no choice in the matter. We allow ourselves to be used only because we know that, in the end, we are in control. In a way, this curse is our fault. It is, after all, one of our own 'little devices' that landed us in this mess…
Astroscope chuckled to himself, causing the other Minicons in the room to shoot him strange looks and wonder what could be so funny about sensor readings. Most of them shrugged it off, observing quietly among themselves that they never could make heads or tails of the blue Space Minicon.
Sky Blast, who was sitting at the console next to him, guessed what his friend was thinking about and promptly started giggling himself, attracting further Looks from Dune Runner, sulking in the corner because he wasn't allowed outside.
The pair's snickering was abruptly cut short as the base alarm sounded. Amid the general scrambling for the door, the Space Minicons exchanged dismal glances.
"Guess we'd better go combine," groaned Sky Blast.
"I suppose we must," agreed his leader, with about as much enthusiasm as his partner. As the two bots headed for the door, Astroscope shook his head, mournfully anticipating what most likely lay ahead for his team this time...
Then again, given that this is the result of our projects, perhaps it's all for the best that we aren't expected to continue our work. Much as I would love to do something more challenging, I must face the fact that the bots around me will seek to twist and use any of our achievements that we do succeed in having acknowledged.
And there are surely worse places for a scientist to be ignored than in a well-stocked military base on an energy-rich planet, left to one's own devices…