Of Regret and Probability
It is intriguing how music can so strongly influence mood. While organizing and cataloging data files for archival, I discovered a collection of Earth music files which Sparkplug once favored listening to while working. Though the measure of years I spent on Earth is minuscule compared to the span of my existence, my banks are filled with memories of this music and the offhand, cheerful banter of Sparkplug and Wheeljack and Ratchet as they, and I, collaborated on various projects. At the time, I took such background auditory filler for granted. I could not conceive of a time when I would not be able to rely upon my friends for such... resonance, for resonance it was. Something more than mere sound, but a manner of existence, of philosophy that transcended companionship. Even knowing the ephemeral nature of human life in comparison to our own, I truthfully did not allow myself to envision a time without Sparkplug at our sides. I suppose I harbor brief relief; that is one event which I had no control over, no way to avert an inevitable fate, no matter how I long for bygone days.
I wish I could claim such innocence for other pivotal events of, not only my own, but many other lives.
I held Megatron's very existence in my hands. Not once, but twice.
Twice in my life, my inaction might have drastically altered the course of fate, and I cannot be for certain that it would not have been for the better. Certainly many lives would have been spared. Many comrades.
My friends.
I advised Brawn that the shock of a plummet from flight might detonate the Heart of Cybertron when we were sent to retrieve it from within Megatron. I... was not entirely truthful. I do not believe that such a fall would have had that effect, but rather, I was too uncomfortable with the thought of committing what would have been murder in cold-blood. It is, I feel, one of the primary distinctions which separate Autobots from Decepticons. At least, I would like to think that our moral compass is one of the key distinctions. And yet, now I must concede that my decisions cost countless beings their lives, for what? Principles? Honor?
I cannot help but feel that I chose incorrectly. Had I but stepped aside, allowed Brawn a moment with Megatron's primary systems... Wheeljack and Ratchet and many other good Autobots might yet live. I might have faced a tribunal, even exile for my decision, but in retrospect, such a price would have been a small burden to bear for the trade of their lives.
I do not believe that Optimus sent me on that mission for my familiarity with the process involved, but, instead, to do what I did - to act as the conscience of the team, given the vulnerable position our enemy would be in with us within him. Brawn was well known for his temper and brashness. Bumblebee, for all of his seeming innocence, is still a special operative, and opined no objections when Brawn first suggested tampering with Megatron's primary systems. Optimus, I believe, left it to me to steer us along the course of an Autobot. Never do I wish more that I had failed him. Perhaps he, too, would still live.
While I am not certain that the danger to all Earth was that great should I have let Brawn do as he wished, the fall as Megatron's systems failed and he plummeted from flight most likely would have been fatal to Brawn, Bumblebee, and myself. Though I know that they would have considered it a small price to pay for the death of our enemy's leader, I could not so easily gamble their lives away.
Interesting to think of what outcome such a trade might have birthed. Brawn for Wheeljack. Bumblebee for Ratchet. Myself for Prowl, Ironhide, Windcharger, and so many others. And, ultimately, Rodimus for Optimus.
I could not make myself do it. I did not know then what I know now. I could not take their lives, not even Megatron's, so cavalierly.
My next opportunity would have cost nothing more than my own life and the lives of the Decepticons on Earth. No other Autobots would have been at risk, and I feel quite certain that the depth of the ocean above the Nemesis would have rendered the Cosmic Rust inert once it had destroyed the base and everyone within it. The contagion would have been contained to a small population of our enemies and myself. I cannot be certain that Optimus might not have mounted a rescue mission in an attempt to retrieve me, however I am certain that I could have thwarted such an effort. It would not have been difficult at all to arrange for an acceleration of the destruction while I feigned an attempt to engineer a cure for the infection. My silence and a bit of action would have purchased freedom from the threat of Megatron for all Autobots.
Again, so many lives spared, all but for my principles.
It was a fate which Megatron had invited upon himself, and yet, I could not help but feel that my silence would have, again, mounted to little more than murder most malicious. I could not help but feel that Optimus would not approve of such a course of inaction. It was not the Autobot way.
I had no fear of losing my own life. I had resigned myself to the most likely fate of deactivation when I was captured, for Decepticons are not known for mercy. It was failing Optimus that frightened me. Knowing that, while I would never have to face him, that his displeasure, disappointment in my chosen path would haunt me so long as even the tiniest portion of my spark existed.
In retrospect, again, such a price would have been an insignificant burden to bear for the trade of a different fate for the Autobots.
Though, who am I to make such a judgment? Rodimus is a fair, insightful, clever Prime whom I hold in the utmost respect. Had I chosen another path, who is to say when, or if, Rodimus would have been born? Who am I to hold such power over the lives of beings besides myself?
And I do not. But I can regret and theorize about the probabilities of fate.
I can regret.
As I sit here within my laboratory and listen to the songs bequeathed to me by Sparkplug, and watch the ghosts of memory play themselves through my processor on an endless cycle... I cannot but wonder if I have failed after all. I cannot help but know that I have. And I haven't the first idea how to repair what I have wrought. I am not used to ignorance; it frightens me in a way that no offensive weaponry is capable of.
Rodimus believes that such thoughts are counterproductive. That, essentially, regret is natural, but that the only acceptable path for him is to try to "heal the hurts" he's caused. I cannot be that strong or wise. I try, and often, but I fail.
I see the wisdom in his words, but I do not know how to follow in his path. I do not know how to heal the hurts I have caused. I do not know where to even begin such a thing. I have only regret. All I can tender is an apology, which seems such a vulgar thing to offer to those whose lives I have so changed, and in such ways. And so the traitorous words stick in my vocalizer, and I continue to ponder the vagrancies of principles and probability. I wonder about the vanity of thinking that I could have possibly played such an important role in history. As I told Rodimus, I am merely a scientist, not a leader of men or mechanisms, and not even a warrior of any distinction. Surely it is the pinnacle of conceit and hubris to imagine that I could have had such power over fate. Yet... I cannot help but wonder what path the future might have taken had I made any other choice but what I did.
Thus I drown in my guilt. And, in doing so, I fail, yet again. How is it that I may see my failure, understand why I am failing in this thing, and still be unable to stop it? They would not thank me for wallowing in this self-inflicted misery, and yet the moments come when I feel helpless to do aught else. Knowing that I am failing simply drives me to deeper levels of despair, and somehow feeling their disappointment in that despair impels me further still.
I feel fractured and worn and wholly unworthy of the trusts that have been placed in me.
And I know... no matter what choice had I made, what soul I have would have been damned for all time. I only wish that I knew which path would have led to the more righteous condemnation. I only wish that the others would have lived to repudiate me.
*anyone who stops past the Lab within the next 36 hours will find that Perceptor has engaged the security lock, disabled any security cameras within the lab, and is not answering his com or the door entry alert. if they listen at the door, they will just barely hear that the computer is playing a single audio file on continuous loop - Hurt by Johnny Cash. anyone with sufficient skill or rank can probably try and override the security lock.