Powerglide - Orange
Title: Orange
Author: Mark Jones
Character: Powerglide
Word count: 1144
Rating/Warning: G
Theme: Rainbow
Summary: Wanting to escape the horror of the human conflict in Iraq, Powerglide finds comfort in the skies above.
"Powerglide, this is Flight Commander Silverbolt respond."
Sensation. It was a wonderful thing. Something so alien, so... human.
Air whipped along the flat edges of the air frame. The oh so narrow and fragile envelop of gasses that hugged this strange world, making all the difference to those below, the difference between life and death. When life was that fragile, that the presence, or more precisely the absense, of that thin, almost intangible substance could bring an end to a civilisation clinging to the rocks of this world.
It was alien.
To Powerglide though it was not intangible. He could feel the air all around him. He could feel the suction beneath his wings that kept him aloft, allowing him to dismiss gravity as a concept for lesser beings. He could feel its tug at his control surfaces, giving him the direction, the ability to swoop and bank, to flip himself into the momentary panic of a flat spin and recover before he crashed to the desert below in a thousand pieces.
He could feel the heat from the distant star, which was far from distant, warming the outer surfaces of his armour, baking and cracking his livery all the way down at the molecular level.
"Powerglide, this is Flight Commander Silverbolt respond immediately."
It was all so different from the life he had been used to. The cold dark of Cybertron. Airless and distant from any other celestial body. A wanderer condemned to drift a path in the long dark between systems. Belonging to nothing.
A planet as a nomad.
A graceless world where mobility was only derived from power. Thrust. Torque. Friction. No subtlety. The small maroon fighter throttled back almost to idle and let his wings work the atmosphere around him.
On Cybertron there was no gliding. It was as his name suggested, even the simple act of driving forwards could only be done with power, with thrust from his two engines.
"Powerglide, this is Prowl. You are to return to the Arc and report to the operations office without delay."
There was no water vapour on Cybertron. Nothing that could compare to a sight like...
The scarlet hued A-10 emerged from the cloud he was thrusting through into open space.
A sight like this.
With no star to orbit, the concept of a sunset was absent. There were only the three moons, and whatever smaller objects were in orbit. Satellites, heavily armed battle stations, staging platforms, dockyards or orbital factories. Not as many in more recent times than in his youth. Protecting such objects was difficult, and even the moons were assaulted by one side or the other as strength ebbed and flowed.
No dawns, no twilights.
Here it was late in the day, the sun was setting over the Arabian Peninsula, retreating in the Western sky, the final rays of sunlight penetrating the upper atmosphere and distorting into spectacular colours lighting up the water vapours droplets in their vast clouds. Puffs of yellows and browns and purples against the deepening blue of the approaching night sky.
"Powerglide, this is Prowl. Optimus Prime requests your presence soonest."
And most vivid of all the oranges. Beauty that would hold Hound captive. Visuals to stun the mind of Beachcomber. Art beyond the imaginings of Sunstreaker. Wonderfully abstract. So different from the life of a warrior.
A life of death.
A life of pain.
A life of ugliness.
"Powerglide." This voice was softer. Carrying none of the authority projected by the forced confidence of Silverbolt, or the secretarial annoyance of Prowl, or even the gruff anger of Ironhide. This voice was more gentle, subtle even appreciative. As if he could see the vista that Powerglide saw.
Hovering not far from Powerglide's left wing is a stark angle of white metal. A wing that ended in the bulk of Jetfire. The research assistant turned air warrior drifted beside Powerglide, moving a little more slugishly, but Powerglide knew the grace and power the existed underneath the gleaming white armour.
"It's beautiful ain't it Jets?"
"Yes. In all my explorations I have never experienced a world as varied as this one. While I have felt its fury and paid for my lack of caution I bear it no ill-will. Sights like this one remind me of how small our perspective is forced by this war. We should take the time, as the humans say, to smell the roses."
"What's a rose?"
"It is a pleasantly aromatic plant of particular beauty. While they come in many colours, the traditional Rose colour is much the same as your own airframe. My studies suggest that humans respond to such stimuli in a way we cannot easily compare to."
"Huh," Powerglide paused, thinking on the idea. "Guess when you live in gasses you get used ta pickin' out small diff'rences."
"Yes," the gentle giant pondered for a moment. "Yes, that follows. I must look into simulating their sensitivity in this area, perhaps there is something we might gain from it, at least while we are here."
"You think we'll leave?"
"Eventually the tide of our war will move on. Megatron will lose his interest in this world and find another rock to mine for the resources he wants that will be less intensive and expensive to exploit."
"I like flying here. I'll miss it."
"I share your enthusiasm, but I do not think we shall be leaving soon." Jetfire paused, as if stealing himself for a difficult subject. "Powerglide, we do have to leave here."
"I know big bot." Powerglide's voice lost much of his colloquial inflection. "I... I killed those humans."
"They were already dead. The Americans were not going to expose someone not from their military to a position where their objective might be compromised. That Iraqi convoy was ruined already. They were testing our resolve."
"I know." Powerglide's voice was sullen. "I know how important this was for Prowl too. Tryin' ta make good buddies with th' humans."
"Americans. It is where we live. We do need their help with the Decepticons."
"Yeah. How is Prowl?"
"Upset."
"Yeah. I'm in trouble right?"
"Yes my young friend, you are. But you have to come home, and that trouble will not be lessened by your staying out here. Plus you will be vulnerable out here on your own should Starscream find you."
"Aah'm sorry Jets. Let's go home."
"We can linger for a minute or two and watch the Sun finish its sunset if you like?"
Powerglide did not answer but gazed at the orange clouds. The were darker now, heading into the browns and the blacks of evening. The moment had passed.
"Naw, let's go."
Author: Mark Jones
Character: Powerglide
Word count: 1144
Rating/Warning: G
Theme: Rainbow
Summary: Wanting to escape the horror of the human conflict in Iraq, Powerglide finds comfort in the skies above.
"Powerglide, this is Flight Commander Silverbolt respond."
Sensation. It was a wonderful thing. Something so alien, so... human.
Air whipped along the flat edges of the air frame. The oh so narrow and fragile envelop of gasses that hugged this strange world, making all the difference to those below, the difference between life and death. When life was that fragile, that the presence, or more precisely the absense, of that thin, almost intangible substance could bring an end to a civilisation clinging to the rocks of this world.
It was alien.
To Powerglide though it was not intangible. He could feel the air all around him. He could feel the suction beneath his wings that kept him aloft, allowing him to dismiss gravity as a concept for lesser beings. He could feel its tug at his control surfaces, giving him the direction, the ability to swoop and bank, to flip himself into the momentary panic of a flat spin and recover before he crashed to the desert below in a thousand pieces.
He could feel the heat from the distant star, which was far from distant, warming the outer surfaces of his armour, baking and cracking his livery all the way down at the molecular level.
"Powerglide, this is Flight Commander Silverbolt respond immediately."
It was all so different from the life he had been used to. The cold dark of Cybertron. Airless and distant from any other celestial body. A wanderer condemned to drift a path in the long dark between systems. Belonging to nothing.
A planet as a nomad.
A graceless world where mobility was only derived from power. Thrust. Torque. Friction. No subtlety. The small maroon fighter throttled back almost to idle and let his wings work the atmosphere around him.
On Cybertron there was no gliding. It was as his name suggested, even the simple act of driving forwards could only be done with power, with thrust from his two engines.
"Powerglide, this is Prowl. You are to return to the Arc and report to the operations office without delay."
There was no water vapour on Cybertron. Nothing that could compare to a sight like...
The scarlet hued A-10 emerged from the cloud he was thrusting through into open space.
A sight like this.
With no star to orbit, the concept of a sunset was absent. There were only the three moons, and whatever smaller objects were in orbit. Satellites, heavily armed battle stations, staging platforms, dockyards or orbital factories. Not as many in more recent times than in his youth. Protecting such objects was difficult, and even the moons were assaulted by one side or the other as strength ebbed and flowed.
No dawns, no twilights.
Here it was late in the day, the sun was setting over the Arabian Peninsula, retreating in the Western sky, the final rays of sunlight penetrating the upper atmosphere and distorting into spectacular colours lighting up the water vapours droplets in their vast clouds. Puffs of yellows and browns and purples against the deepening blue of the approaching night sky.
"Powerglide, this is Prowl. Optimus Prime requests your presence soonest."
And most vivid of all the oranges. Beauty that would hold Hound captive. Visuals to stun the mind of Beachcomber. Art beyond the imaginings of Sunstreaker. Wonderfully abstract. So different from the life of a warrior.
A life of death.
A life of pain.
A life of ugliness.
"Powerglide." This voice was softer. Carrying none of the authority projected by the forced confidence of Silverbolt, or the secretarial annoyance of Prowl, or even the gruff anger of Ironhide. This voice was more gentle, subtle even appreciative. As if he could see the vista that Powerglide saw.
Hovering not far from Powerglide's left wing is a stark angle of white metal. A wing that ended in the bulk of Jetfire. The research assistant turned air warrior drifted beside Powerglide, moving a little more slugishly, but Powerglide knew the grace and power the existed underneath the gleaming white armour.
"It's beautiful ain't it Jets?"
"Yes. In all my explorations I have never experienced a world as varied as this one. While I have felt its fury and paid for my lack of caution I bear it no ill-will. Sights like this one remind me of how small our perspective is forced by this war. We should take the time, as the humans say, to smell the roses."
"What's a rose?"
"It is a pleasantly aromatic plant of particular beauty. While they come in many colours, the traditional Rose colour is much the same as your own airframe. My studies suggest that humans respond to such stimuli in a way we cannot easily compare to."
"Huh," Powerglide paused, thinking on the idea. "Guess when you live in gasses you get used ta pickin' out small diff'rences."
"Yes," the gentle giant pondered for a moment. "Yes, that follows. I must look into simulating their sensitivity in this area, perhaps there is something we might gain from it, at least while we are here."
"You think we'll leave?"
"Eventually the tide of our war will move on. Megatron will lose his interest in this world and find another rock to mine for the resources he wants that will be less intensive and expensive to exploit."
"I like flying here. I'll miss it."
"I share your enthusiasm, but I do not think we shall be leaving soon." Jetfire paused, as if stealing himself for a difficult subject. "Powerglide, we do have to leave here."
"I know big bot." Powerglide's voice lost much of his colloquial inflection. "I... I killed those humans."
"They were already dead. The Americans were not going to expose someone not from their military to a position where their objective might be compromised. That Iraqi convoy was ruined already. They were testing our resolve."
"I know." Powerglide's voice was sullen. "I know how important this was for Prowl too. Tryin' ta make good buddies with th' humans."
"Americans. It is where we live. We do need their help with the Decepticons."
"Yeah. How is Prowl?"
"Upset."
"Yeah. I'm in trouble right?"
"Yes my young friend, you are. But you have to come home, and that trouble will not be lessened by your staying out here. Plus you will be vulnerable out here on your own should Starscream find you."
"Aah'm sorry Jets. Let's go home."
"We can linger for a minute or two and watch the Sun finish its sunset if you like?"
Powerglide did not answer but gazed at the orange clouds. The were darker now, heading into the browns and the blacks of evening. The moment had passed.
"Naw, let's go."