Powerglide - Yellow
Title: Yellow
Author: Mark Jones
Character: Powerglide
Word count: 1270
Rating/Warning: G
Theme: Rainbow
Summary: After going off the farm, Powerglide attends a debrief with his immediate superior, the still quite junior Bumblebee.
"Pull up a crate and take a load off. That's an order."
As orders went it was so cheerfully delivered with such a bright infectious smile Powerglide felt powerless to do anything but obey the instruction. It would have been rude not to. The mech delivering the order was slightly shorter than Powerglide, if he was standing, which he was not, and leant back in a chair, the very picture of relaxation. A slightly bulbous looking frame, inherited from a bulbous looking alt mode which made his car look like a fruit, sliced in half and laid on the flat surface with four wheels tacked on. Dark coloured limbs connected the pieces of car, which was was a bright a yellow as the sunniness of the wearers disposition. His head continued the bulbous theme, but angular like all Autobots just the same, in yellow and white and topped with a horned antannae on each side of his temples.
And a smile that was all open and honest friendliness, the complete contrast for his supposed role as a saboteur. Powerglide felt instantly relaxed and as deformalised as the flier could get. A jug of warm foamy hi-grade and it would be as pleasant as an after-action debrief could get. This mech had that effect on a mech. Maybe it was part of a technique to get more honest answers from the flier but it was hard to connect such ulterior motives with someone who looked so happy and well... niave.
It was hard not to like Bumblebee.
For administrative purposes the minibots ran as their own little unit, but additionally because personalities just seemed to mesh better that way to. The minibots did not fit as well into a formalised military struture, there was a theory that back in the day military commanders had put more effort into training the larger troops, often ignoring the smaller Autobots and allowing them the leeway at times, to entertain themselves. Personalities had evolved over time that reinforced this divide to the point that the smaller bots actually started to form their own units and structure. It was as good a theory as any.
"So walk me through it Glidey." Some time in the past, Optimus Prime had spotted something in Bumblebee, the potential to become some future Hot Shot maybe. Powerglide did not see it, but Prime, or rather Ironhide selected the assignments, and Bumblebee was in charge of the minibots.
"It was the same sort of flying routine I've done many a time back home, terrain was all different though. I just followed the humans lead, Prowl made it clear I should trust them."
"So long as you keep your wits about you."
"Exactly. Turns out those armoured drones weren't drones, they were armoured gunnery platforms controlled by humans inside the armour. I heard the screams and stopped to look."
"Who told you they were drones?" Bumblebee's voice had lost his some of its cheer, as though he was now analysing the flyer's words.
"They were driving like drones. They behaved like drones. They looked like drones."
"Humans don't have drone-tanks, this isn't Cybertron anymore, but move on."
"I heard screaming coming from one of the tanks."
"Through the tank?"
"He must have screamed with a radio transmitting... I guess." Strong feelings of guilt was coming back to Powerglide. The flyer felt the strong urge to break optic contact with Bumblebee so he glances around the small compartment that served as the minibots operations shop. "These humans, fighting them ain't like fighting us. They're so fragile. You shoot them and their dead."
"Powerglide, are you saying you did not know what you were getting into? We live here in the USA, we are, effectively citizens here."
"But..."
"Yeah, I know. Technicalities. Prowl asked you to join the fighting for our benefit. I'm not saying we're obligated to go shoot up any people President Bush tells us to shoot up. The Iraqi army took over another country, they were unwanted armed conquerors. The Kuwaitis didn't deserve that."
"But it's a slaughter. They are killing them so easily and without real opposition. It's not fighting!"
"What is fighting? Single pistol at thirty paces? Swords? Pillows?"
"What's a pillow?"
"Doesn't matter," Bumblebee looked almost angry. "Powerglide, you're an aerialist."
"Terror o' the skies!" Powerglide was proud of his wings and his skills, just the mention of it triggered his familiar refrain, but it tailed off markedly after an initial burst of enthusiasm, as the depression once again took hold.
"Yes," Bumblebee underlined it anyway. "Part of your job is to bomb ground troops, who don't have the ability to shoot back at your speed and manoeuvrability. Is that fair? Skywarp could materialise right here in this office and blow your head off, or worse, my head off right here in front of you, laugh at your helplessness and fade out again. You know he would, given the chance."
"That's a thought that's going to fester."
"Is this a game to you? You want to whirl and dance in the sky, dropping bombs, shooting at Seekers, thinking you'll beat them up and they'll come back to see your prowess again tomorrow? We are at war with the Decepticons. They are destroying Cybertron. Any of our troops back home that get caught are taken to Shockwave and tortured for information, then rendered down for their energon and their fluids and metal are recycled for the Decepticon war machine. No-one has heard from any of the Femmes since the Arc was revived. Do you care if Moonracer is alive?"
"Shaddup Busy Bee!" Powerglide was on his feet suddenly, his fist balled as he was was intending to lash out. "You don't know what's in my mind. You think I don't think about her?"
"I think you are trying too hard not to." The burst of insight stopped Powerglide in his mental tracks. Was he right? Powerglide stopped and asked himself a hurtful question... Am I playing the dilettante flyer to suppress my feelings and hide from my responsibilities?
"Powerglide, I'm going to take you off the active roster," Bumblebee seemed to sag a little. "I'm sorry if I've hurt your feelings, but I think maybe you need some time to think about what exactly you are doing in this war. I want you to relieve Cosmos on high guard in orbit. Go do some flying where nobody can see you for awhile. If this was peacetime maybe we could send you to get line-weaver for some psycho-therapy. We're at war and Ironhide insisted I find a way to make use of you."
The thought of speaking to a line-weaver, the nickname that Autobot psychiatrists have acquired in time's past had some appeal, a neutral observe to rant and rage at. There were no line-weavers on Earth.
"Did you hear me?"
"Relieve Cosmos. It's not like I haven't done it before." Powerglide no longer looked at Bumblebee and missed the concerned sideways glance from the smaller mech.
"I've sent Hoist a requisition for you for long range energon tanks. If you need someone to talk to, call me on the radio and I'll be here."
"Sure Bee, whatever. Like I wanna be here anymore."
"Powerglide, don't do anything stupid OK?"
"Because then you'd have to clear up my mess? Don't be puttin' off refuelin' waitin' for mah call." Powerglide stormed out, looking to grab the each of the door and slam it, only to release belatedly it was an automated sliding door. Snarling at the door, he kicked it hard and walked.
Author: Mark Jones
Character: Powerglide
Word count: 1270
Rating/Warning: G
Theme: Rainbow
Summary: After going off the farm, Powerglide attends a debrief with his immediate superior, the still quite junior Bumblebee.
"Pull up a crate and take a load off. That's an order."
As orders went it was so cheerfully delivered with such a bright infectious smile Powerglide felt powerless to do anything but obey the instruction. It would have been rude not to. The mech delivering the order was slightly shorter than Powerglide, if he was standing, which he was not, and leant back in a chair, the very picture of relaxation. A slightly bulbous looking frame, inherited from a bulbous looking alt mode which made his car look like a fruit, sliced in half and laid on the flat surface with four wheels tacked on. Dark coloured limbs connected the pieces of car, which was was a bright a yellow as the sunniness of the wearers disposition. His head continued the bulbous theme, but angular like all Autobots just the same, in yellow and white and topped with a horned antannae on each side of his temples.
And a smile that was all open and honest friendliness, the complete contrast for his supposed role as a saboteur. Powerglide felt instantly relaxed and as deformalised as the flier could get. A jug of warm foamy hi-grade and it would be as pleasant as an after-action debrief could get. This mech had that effect on a mech. Maybe it was part of a technique to get more honest answers from the flier but it was hard to connect such ulterior motives with someone who looked so happy and well... niave.
It was hard not to like Bumblebee.
For administrative purposes the minibots ran as their own little unit, but additionally because personalities just seemed to mesh better that way to. The minibots did not fit as well into a formalised military struture, there was a theory that back in the day military commanders had put more effort into training the larger troops, often ignoring the smaller Autobots and allowing them the leeway at times, to entertain themselves. Personalities had evolved over time that reinforced this divide to the point that the smaller bots actually started to form their own units and structure. It was as good a theory as any.
"So walk me through it Glidey." Some time in the past, Optimus Prime had spotted something in Bumblebee, the potential to become some future Hot Shot maybe. Powerglide did not see it, but Prime, or rather Ironhide selected the assignments, and Bumblebee was in charge of the minibots.
"It was the same sort of flying routine I've done many a time back home, terrain was all different though. I just followed the humans lead, Prowl made it clear I should trust them."
"So long as you keep your wits about you."
"Exactly. Turns out those armoured drones weren't drones, they were armoured gunnery platforms controlled by humans inside the armour. I heard the screams and stopped to look."
"Who told you they were drones?" Bumblebee's voice had lost his some of its cheer, as though he was now analysing the flyer's words.
"They were driving like drones. They behaved like drones. They looked like drones."
"Humans don't have drone-tanks, this isn't Cybertron anymore, but move on."
"I heard screaming coming from one of the tanks."
"Through the tank?"
"He must have screamed with a radio transmitting... I guess." Strong feelings of guilt was coming back to Powerglide. The flyer felt the strong urge to break optic contact with Bumblebee so he glances around the small compartment that served as the minibots operations shop. "These humans, fighting them ain't like fighting us. They're so fragile. You shoot them and their dead."
"Powerglide, are you saying you did not know what you were getting into? We live here in the USA, we are, effectively citizens here."
"But..."
"Yeah, I know. Technicalities. Prowl asked you to join the fighting for our benefit. I'm not saying we're obligated to go shoot up any people President Bush tells us to shoot up. The Iraqi army took over another country, they were unwanted armed conquerors. The Kuwaitis didn't deserve that."
"But it's a slaughter. They are killing them so easily and without real opposition. It's not fighting!"
"What is fighting? Single pistol at thirty paces? Swords? Pillows?"
"What's a pillow?"
"Doesn't matter," Bumblebee looked almost angry. "Powerglide, you're an aerialist."
"Terror o' the skies!" Powerglide was proud of his wings and his skills, just the mention of it triggered his familiar refrain, but it tailed off markedly after an initial burst of enthusiasm, as the depression once again took hold.
"Yes," Bumblebee underlined it anyway. "Part of your job is to bomb ground troops, who don't have the ability to shoot back at your speed and manoeuvrability. Is that fair? Skywarp could materialise right here in this office and blow your head off, or worse, my head off right here in front of you, laugh at your helplessness and fade out again. You know he would, given the chance."
"That's a thought that's going to fester."
"Is this a game to you? You want to whirl and dance in the sky, dropping bombs, shooting at Seekers, thinking you'll beat them up and they'll come back to see your prowess again tomorrow? We are at war with the Decepticons. They are destroying Cybertron. Any of our troops back home that get caught are taken to Shockwave and tortured for information, then rendered down for their energon and their fluids and metal are recycled for the Decepticon war machine. No-one has heard from any of the Femmes since the Arc was revived. Do you care if Moonracer is alive?"
"Shaddup Busy Bee!" Powerglide was on his feet suddenly, his fist balled as he was was intending to lash out. "You don't know what's in my mind. You think I don't think about her?"
"I think you are trying too hard not to." The burst of insight stopped Powerglide in his mental tracks. Was he right? Powerglide stopped and asked himself a hurtful question... Am I playing the dilettante flyer to suppress my feelings and hide from my responsibilities?
"Powerglide, I'm going to take you off the active roster," Bumblebee seemed to sag a little. "I'm sorry if I've hurt your feelings, but I think maybe you need some time to think about what exactly you are doing in this war. I want you to relieve Cosmos on high guard in orbit. Go do some flying where nobody can see you for awhile. If this was peacetime maybe we could send you to get line-weaver for some psycho-therapy. We're at war and Ironhide insisted I find a way to make use of you."
The thought of speaking to a line-weaver, the nickname that Autobot psychiatrists have acquired in time's past had some appeal, a neutral observe to rant and rage at. There were no line-weavers on Earth.
"Did you hear me?"
"Relieve Cosmos. It's not like I haven't done it before." Powerglide no longer looked at Bumblebee and missed the concerned sideways glance from the smaller mech.
"I've sent Hoist a requisition for you for long range energon tanks. If you need someone to talk to, call me on the radio and I'll be here."
"Sure Bee, whatever. Like I wanna be here anymore."
"Powerglide, don't do anything stupid OK?"
"Because then you'd have to clear up my mess? Don't be puttin' off refuelin' waitin' for mah call." Powerglide stormed out, looking to grab the each of the door and slam it, only to release belatedly it was an automated sliding door. Snarling at the door, he kicked it hard and walked.