A More Perfect Union
Author’s note: this story takes place one year after the events of Transformers: Twilight of the Golden Age
A cool nighttime breeze wafted gently through the rusted columns and worn filigree of the meeting place of the tribes of Eukaris: the former command deck of the colony ship that, under the will of Onyx Prime, had reformed the planet into a home for bestial transformers. The ship had been stripped for parts soon after it had cyberformed Eukaris, leaving the command deck exposed to the starry sky like a flower bathed in moonlight; a circular platform formed its center, with twelve smaller daises branching off of its circumference like grey petals, their rims adorned with long-dead husks of consoles and hologram projectors. Beneath the petals, four bridges led away from the command deck and out to the remains of the ring-shaped structure that formed the top of the spire-shaped colony ship. Knotted creepers wove through the superstructure’s exposed skeleton, and blankets of deep-green moss covered the patches of sloping hull plating that remained here-and-there.
Gossamer, Scribe to Queen Pterygota of the Below, scanned the deck, observing the chieftains of the other eukarian tribes gathered here. Each was accompanied by a compliment of guards and their finest warriors, and between them stood Apex, the king of the Steel Shard Mountains, whose duty it was to keep the peace between them all. Like his predecessors, he had earned his title in ritual combat, besting the previous king in the arena to prove his might and right to rule. So it had always been on Eukaris, its inhabitants eschewing the convoluted politics of Cybertron and the other colonies in favor of the natural law, the rules of nature which had governed this universe since its inception. It was the last decree of Onyx Prime, the Lord of Beasts, before his death that his successors would be chosen in this way.
…Or so it had been thought. Gossamer frowned as she once again went over Axis Prime’s recent revelation in her thoughts. Axis, who in three month’s time had risen from a fighter from the city beneath Mount Axalon to the latest in the lineage of the Primes: the demigods chosen by the Matrix of Leadership to lead all of cybertronian kind. Before the return of the Heralds of Unicron, Gossamer- along with virtually everyone else on Eukaris- knew nothing of the Matrix, or of other Primes and gods. Since she had risen from the Well of Sparks in the Fecund Pit thirty thousand years ago, she had been taught that Onyx was the only one, the bridge between his robotic people and the natural world, who led his followers to this planet when the rest of his kind became intoxicated off their obtuse metal cities, noisy starships, and voracious weapons.
But this was not so, Axis had said to king Apex and the other chieftains. Gossamer remembered Pterygota’s shrill cry of bewilderment, and the shock that she and the others had felt at this proclamation. No, it turned out that Onyx was but one of thirteen Primes, later only twelve following a terrible war. Onyx and brothers, Axis explained, has gone their separate ways after this war, each one founding his own colony world before passing on. What was more, Axis had spoken to the Lord of Beasts’s spirit during her quest to defeat Unicron’s heralds, and he had apparently expressed surprise at how his people had ruled themselves since his passing.
“I personally found that there’s more to it than simply being the strongest, or most vicious,” Onyx had said, according to her. “In some situations, that might be a component, yes, but I don’t believe it’s ever truly all that’s required.”
So Gossamer, and generations of eukarians before her, had been mistaken. Mistaken in the history of their own deity and his will. It was hard to take in- it still was- but that didn’t change the facts. Inspired by Onyx’s words, Axis had suggested that the king and chieftains do away with the ancient rites, and determine their rulers not by fighting, but by their ability to lead (a confusing distinction that Axis repeatedly made a point to impress upon them), and the will of the people they would preside over. “Democracy”, she had called it. It was but a suggestion, but Apex and the others were quick to heed the words of the new Prime, and so here they all were roughly a year later.
Gossamer noted few new faces in the gathering- almost none, in fact, aside from the chieftains’s guards. The insecticons of the Below had voted to keep Pterygota as their queen, and it seemed that the denizens of the other tribes had followed suit with their own rulers. Gossamer recalled how she had felt obligated to cast her vote in favor the queen- to do otherwise smacked of treason, and a wise eukarian never called her chieftain’s leadership into doubt unless she could fight to prove her claim. Clearly, such a dramatic change to her people’s culture would take more time to become acclimated to.
“One year has passed, as we agreed upon,” Apex spoke, getting right to the point of tonight’s gathering. “I trust that you all have done as our Prime asked of us, and allowed your constituents to permit those of who who’ve kept your thrones to do so by their will.”
“Of course we have!” said Sandstone, Lord of the Whispering Sands, rather quickly. The mandibles beside his jaws click nervously, and the stinger-tipped tail rising from over his shoulder twitched. Apex frowns at him, noting the scorpion-bot’s defensive demeanor.
“I will hold each of you to your honor that you have done so,” he said, though he clearly spoke to Sandstone alone. Pterygota hisses out a remark in the insecticon tongue, foreign to the audio receptors of the rest. Gossamer translates:
“The insecticons of the Below have chosen to remain under the leadership of her excellency, queen Pterygota, Tunneler and Protector of the Brood,” she said, adding a respectful “long may she reign” afterward, to the pleasure of the queen.
“Likewise, the transformers of the Whispering Sands have expressed their desire to remain under the wise leadership of I, Lord Standstone,” the scorpion-bot insisted, though he fooled no-one; Gossamer even saw one of his own bodyguards roll his eyes, and she stifled a laugh with her upper right hand.
A grey-armored techno-organic minicon perched atop a ruined data tower rises from the crouch he had assumed since the meeting had stared, white feathers waving in the wind between his mechanical components. His great, disk-shaped eyes glowed a deep red as they looked over the gathering, before the minicon whispered
“I, Snowblind, am honored to have been chosen by the transformers of the South Frost to lead them into this new era.” He was one of the new ones, Gossamer noted, and she wasn’t surprised; the previous ruler of Eukaris’s southern pole had been a bully, rumored to have cheated in his duel with his predecessor to take his title from her. Gossamer wondered what would become of him now…
Things continued like this for another few minutes, with the other nine chieftains proclaiming their leadership over their vast territories. When that was done with, they all looked expectantly to Apex. None of their discussions together had devised a means to elect a new king. Though he hailed from the Steel Shard Mountains, his duty was to the whole planet. Gossamer couldn’t imagine any feasible means by which to conduct a planet-wide election, with billions of cybertronians scattered across warrens, deserts, undersea caverns, and all other manner of environments.
“You must now be wondering where I will reside in this new system of government,” Apex said, seeming to read everyone’s minds.
“The answer is: I won’t.”
Now this was a bombshell, as that one scrappy junkion Gossamer had recently encountered would put it. Some bots gasped, and Snowblind’s already-wide eyes grew even larger. Gossamer hadn’t even thought that possible.
“There is no place for kings here, in this new world we are making,” Apex continued. “It falls to you- all of you- to preside over your own territories. Not as chieftains and rulers, but leaders who will serve their people and act at their behest.”
“But who will resolve disputes between us?” clicked a red bot with a hunched back and some kind of crustacean for an alt-mode. “If one of us is found to be guilty of wrongdoing, who will punish them accordingly?”
“Disputes between you are to be resolved through peaceful negotiation,” Apex answered. “We will not suffer the tribal wars of millennia past, and those of you who would slight against your people will find themselves removed from their throne by their hands.”
“What will you do?” growled an enormous green predacon to Apex. “If you are no longer king of Eukaris…”
“This is my last act as king,” Apex said. “Henceforth, I am but another resident of the Steel Shard Mountains, living under the leadership of you, Hookfang. The Triptych Mask, which has been passed through my lineage, will remain in the hands of the Onyx Temple’s caretakers.”
Apex stepped out of the center of the command deck as a silence befell the gathering. Gossamer looked to the east and saw a thin sliver of dawn beginning to peak out across the horizon, casting thin rays of orange light between the mountains that surrounded the colony ship. The chieftains each stepped forward, acknowledging one another’s sovereignty before declaring this first meeting of their council adjourned. They each gathered their guards and departed for their respective regions, returning to their people to lead them into a new age.
It’s about time I wrote a real story instead of just dropping lore on you guys, right? Please tell me what you think of it.