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NEVER = FOREVER |
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By Mark Stevenson |
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| “And you’re telling me that .
. . that he is the one?” “Oh, yes. Beyond any doubt.” “ . . . ” “Surprised?” “Astonished, more like. Of any Transformer ever . . . why him?” “Oh, I’m certain that he has found himself asking the same question. Many, many times.” “Predacons – TERRORISE!” Megatron’s body twisted and reshaped itself in a smooth blur, and a mechanical Tyrannosaurus let out a mighty roar as twin jets on either thigh propelled him towards his opponents. Inferno whooped with maniacal joy and unloaded his flamethrower in the direction of the Maximal interlopers. The searing napalm spray was well wide of its target, but it did the job; Rattrap and the newly-reconfigured Cheetor dived for cover. Seeing the leopard-like Maximal who had recently dealt him a crushing defeat, Dinobot let out a feral snarl, transformed and charged to engage the enemy. The fourth Predacon smiled. They had the Maximals outgunned and outnumbered. Victory was surely at hand. Suddenly, a huge shape blocked out the sun. Looking up sharply, he saw the mammoth shape of Optimus Primal swooping out of the sky in jet mode. He yelped in terror, knowing full well what was coming next. The Maximal leader’s weapons lit up as he opened fire and spat supercharged death at him. As, for the umpteenth time in these Beast Wars, he was blown to pieces, he had time for one plaintive cry, a cry that went unheard beneath the roar of Primal’s cannons. “WHY UNIVERZZE HATE WAZZPINATOR?!?!?!!” And, in another time and place… Waspinator squatted on a log in the rainforest, alone with his thoughts. A small army of ants climbed over his body, decided he wasn’t worth trying to eat, and moved on. Waspinator couldn’t have cared less. He stared at his reflection in a muddy puddle, and the face of a lonely, useless, defeated and utterly, utterly miserable Transformer stared back at him. Where had it all gone wrong? Or, perhaps more appropriately, had it ever gone right in the first place? The Earth date, as far as he could ascertain, was 2001. He had now been more or less stranded on this horrid organic world for a couple of million years. It didn’t sound much when you said it quickly, did it? Well, it was. He’d been alone since the end of the Beast Wars. At first it had been easy. For the first time he could remember, he had been . . . well, happy. That tribe of proto-humanoids had treated him like a living god. Waspinator had liked that. They had loved him, and he liked to think he had been a benevolent deity in return. It had been great. And then, before he’d even had a chance to let the novelty wear off, those two fragging Autobots had shown up and ruined everything! “We’re sorry,” they’d said, “but the fact is that you’re an obvious threat to the development of this species. We’ll have to take you into custody.” He’d tried to explain to them that he came from what they would call the future; he’d tried to bluff them, saying that he knew the course of things to come, that (if they played their cards right) he could help them to influence the destinies of both this planet and Cybertron. They hadn’t liked that. After a few abortive attempts to mercifully terminate him (“For the good of all concerned,” they’d said), they’d discovered what Waspinator himself had long come to suspect; that he could not be killed. Blow him apart, grind him into his component parts, inflict as much damage as you liked (he really hated that part, as ‘they’ often liked to inflict a lot): sooner or later he’d be re-assembled somehow, and they’d have to start all over again. Eventually Inferno – déjà vu! – and Red Alert gave up, and instead placed him in a stasis pod aboard their newly-reconstructed personal warship, the Nemesis. Unfortunately for them, however, stasis pods tended to be a little unreliable; in other words, their occupants had a tendency of awakening unbidden. Which, eventually, he had done. Just in time to get blown up again. “We’ve got an energy spike coming from the planet below – sensors indicate we have been target-locked!” “Impossible!” cried Red Alert. “No-one could know we were up here! We’re invisible!” “Energy build-up indicates firing in fifteen seconds . . . fourteen…” “Can we take evasive?” “Not in time. We have to leave – now!” He’d found a large, powerful weapon in the hold. As he sprinted towards the bridge, he smiled to himself; now, at last, he would have his revenge. However, when he found himself standing alone on the bridge, dwarfed by the immense banks of equipment around him, he began to suspect that something had gone awry. Slowly, painfully, that oh-so-familiar feeling of impending doom rose in his circuits. As his two Autobot tormentors threw themselves out of an escape hatch and fired their weapons to propel themselves away from the shortly-to-be-obliterated Nemesis, Waspinator stared through a viewscreen, watching as a bolt of pure energy streaked up towards him from the planet below. Just before his world dissolved into searing white light and blistering noise, he had time for one last thought. “Oh no, not again.” That had been fifteen long years ago. “I still don’t believe it’s him. It’s absurd.” “Is it really so unbelievable? It certainly makes a lot more sense for Waspinator to be the one than, say, Optimus Prime or the Liege Maximo.” “Wha--? In what possible way does it?” “Think about it. He’s a nobody. He’s cowardly, weak and, well, utterly useless. In other words, completely beyond the Enemy’s suspicion. He’s a totally invisible underachiever. And—” “-And he can’t die.” “Hello Waspinator.” Waspinator snapped out of his reverie, panicking. He looked around, but the rainforest was silent and he was utterly alone, or so he— Too late, he looked up as a sleek black shape pounced from a branch above him, knocking him flat and landing atop him. Waspinator stared at the razor-sharp teeth inches from his face. This was all he needed right now. “R-Ravage?” “Ah, my reputation proceeds me, as ever. I, on the other hand,” the jet-black, panther-like Decepticon spy purred, “have never met you before. Nor will I. So I thought it best to take this opportunity to do so, if you follow.” He didn’t. “What – what you zzaying?” Waspinator buzzed nervously. Ravage smiled menacingly at the small robot. “Allow me to explain. Several years ago I procured an item from the area that had, until a few years before, been home to the Autobot spacecruiser, the Ark. I see by your expression that you are familiar with it. The item in question . . . was my own head. Or, rather, the head of a future version of me, who apparently travelled back in time to locate and terminate a rogue band of, ahem, ‘Predacons’, of which you were a member. During the course of this mission, I died. Or should I say, I will die? Temporal causality – it confuses me somewhat. But I think you are starting to get the picture, hmm?” Waspinator stared blankly at him. He wasn’t. “Never mind. When I downloaded the datatracks from ‘my’ head, I found the energy signatures of my targets that some jokers called the Tripredacus Council had programmed into my future self. One of those files was – guess what – you.” “Mnnn. Well, th-that makezz a few thingzz clearer…” “So there I was, an hour ago, doing a routine scan for Cybertronians from our earthbase, when, much to my surprise, I picked up your signal here in Brazil. Naturally I was quite eager to meet you, as you might be able to shed a little light on these mysterious wars in the ancient future – and more importantly, help me avoid my own death.” “Huh! Whazz in it for Wazzpinator?” The smile vanished from Ravage’s face, and his voice dropped to a threatening whisper. “The avoidance of a whole world of pain. For the rest of eternity.” Waspinator understood that. “Well, he could theoretically be killed. Given sufficient time and effort . . . after all, nothing lasts forever. Which is precisely why I feel we have to intervene at this juncture.” “You’re suggesting that, with all that is happening on Cybertron, and the relentless spread of Shokaract’s forces across half the known galaxy in this time zone . . . in the middle of our surveillance of all this, we devote a significant amount of our energy and resources to rescuing . . . that?” “Yes, Leonicus, that is precisely what I am suggesting. In fact I would go so far as to say that the chronicles demand it.” “Ah, yes, the chronicles…” Leonicus sighed, turning his back on the monitors. He paced the metallic floor of the Observatory for a few seconds, thinking deeply. This was another problem that, frankly, he didn’t need right now. Finally he turned back to Capricun, who sat quietly watching him, fingers steepled. “And what would it matter if Ravage kills Waspinator before he is even created? As you say yourself, he’s a non-entity in the course of history. It would be unlikely to cause he kind of problems we saw with those ‘Time Wars’ or whatever they called them.” Capricun groaned, surprised that a member of the Covenant could be so unable to accept the facts. “You aren’t getting the whole concept of ouroboros, are you? Let me put it simply for you. Waspinator is the eternal Transformer, existing in a constant loop between the start of the dangerous expansion of Maximo’s empire and the beginning of Shokaract’s reign of terror. He spans the most important – and the most dangerous – eras of the Transformers; times when they could easily have been extinguished. It is increasingly unlikely that he was ever ‘created’, certainly not in this version of reality, and he must never die. He is the one that Primus has chosen to ensure that the Transformers will always exist, so that the Grand Plan will continue to run as he intended. As long as there is Waspinator, there will be – the Transformers. Without him, reality would come apart at the seams like never before.” He got up. “Look at it another way. You have postulated yourself that the interference of the Maximals and Predacons aboard the Ark in Earth’s prehistory was the very thing that stopped it’s systems falling into disrepair, thus allowing Optimus Prime and his crew to re-awaken at the correct time. Had Waspinator not signed up for Megatron’s mission, things could have been very different – it may never have happened. Waspinator is the tiniest cog in the machine – but that is the cog that the machine cannot run without. Who knows how many times he’s been around already? And who knows how many times we have done what we are about to do? Our hands are tied, Leonicus. Hard as it may be to believe Waspinator is a Transformer with a destiny – I think he’d agree with me on that himself, but there you have it.” “Alright, old friend, you have convinced me. Prepare the Transwarp portal.” Leonicus studied the screen thoughtfully. “Hmm. And, whilst we’re there, we may as well nip another potential anomaly in the bud, too.” “…And that’zz the lazzt I saw of Megabutt. Hyah! Zzervezz old dork right. ‘Wazzpinator, retrieve Rampage’zz body, yeezzzz.’ After that thozze Autobotzz made it their bzznezz to make Wazzpinator’zz life mizzery… Nyoww! Why univerzze hate Wazzpinator?” Ravage stared slack-jawed at the green Predacon. Some of what he had told him in the last half-hour had made sense – well, kind of – but he didn’t think he’d ever met a more bitter, resentful and downright annoying character in all his days. Or more uninformed, for that matter. “Shut up! You really are utterly useless, aren’t you?” he spat, cutting Waspinator off before he could start griping again. Deadly claws sprouted silently from his paws. “In the name of Primus, what is the point of you? I don’t think I’ve ever - -” Before Ravage could finish his insult, there was a blinding light. The two looked up to see a pair of large, shimmering, majestic figures standing over them. One of them waved his hand and suddenly an unseen force threw Ravage savagely against a nearby tree, stunning him. The other gently reached out to Waspinator, helping him to his feet. The awesome figure bowed, reverentially. “Waspinator . . . the eternal warrior. It is an honour to encounter you. Please, come with us.” Waspinator wasn’t about to push his luck; he merely nodded eagerly. He didn’t know who or what these weirdos were, but they were actually being nice to him and showing him some respect, which was something of a novelty. Besides, wherever they took him, anywhere had to be better than here. “One moment, Capricun,” said the other, “there is something else that needs attending to whilst we are here.” He stepped towards the dazed Decepticon, reaching out with a hand that glowed in an eerie yellow haze. “Ravage is in possession of the memories of his future self, and is consciously attempting to remodel the course of things to come; amongst other things he seeks to avoid his own death. As we have seen before, detailed knowledge of the future is a damaging thing for any one individual to possess. So,” he said, briefly touching Ravage’s forehead, “a simple mental block should remove the risk . . . and let the dice fall where they may.” “Hmm. Good work, Leonicus. Now let us depart this place.” And with another flash they were gone, leaving a dazed and confused Ravage to wonder what he was doing in the middle of the Brazilian rainforest on his own, and why he had a strange, itching feeling right behind his eyes… Waspinator stood in the middle of the mechanical splendour of the Covenant’s secret base, gaping in awe. He’d never seen anything like it, or so he thought. The truth, although he would never know, was that he had been here and done this a hundred thousand times before, and would so again. And every time his reaction was exactly the same. “Coo,” was all he could say (or says, or said, or will say. Depending on your point of view). “Welcome, most revered one. We are the Covenant.” Eleven figures stood in a loose circle around him. Waspinator wasn’t sure which one of them had spoken; it was possible they all had. Despite being surrounded by a group of strangers he didn’t feel threatened; in fact he felt strangely at ease. “Nizze pad you guyzz have here.” The Covenant looked at each other, confused. “Why . . . thank you?” ventured the one known as Ariex, eventually. The one who had rescued him, Capricun, cleared his throat. “Waspinator, you are the first Cybertronian to ever set eyes on our secret home. You are currently deep beneath the surface of the moon Protos, hidden from the rest of the universe by a gigantic planet that we know as Methuselah. It is perfectly understandable for you to be wondering who we are and why we brought you here. We are the first of the race that has become known as the Transformers. We are Primus’s Covenant, created to ensure the survival and success of his Grand Plan – that the forces of good should continue to prevail in this universe. Like you, we are the chosen ones. Do you understand?” He didn’t. “Rrrrrriiight. Mmmnnnn. Give Wazzpinator a zzecond to get head round thizz,” he muttered, disbelieving and confused. “Firzzt thingzz firzzt, I don’t . . . wait a zzec! Whoa! ‘Chozzen one’? What Goatbot talking about?” Capricun sighed. This wasn’t going to be easy. “You are going to find this hard to accept, Waspinator, but it is the truth. Like us and a handful of other Transformers, you have been chosen by our god, Primus. You are one of the blessed, but yours is a truly unique destiny. Whilst others exist to, for example, advance the race as a whole by pushing them through new frontiers, or, like us, exist to defeat an unstoppable enemy, you exist to ensure that the Transformers exist. As long as there is a Waspinator, there will be the Transformers. You have perhaps heard the word ‘ouroboros’? The rather crude symbolism of a snake eating it’s own tail, thus representing an eternal cycle, infinite and enduring?” Waspinator nodded meekly. He was lying, but never mind. “Well, that’s you.” “Hold it! HOLD IT! Wazzpinator not azzk for thizz! Why me? What I ever do to tick off Primuzz?” “Waspinator . . . Primus works in mysterious ways. Sometimes, mysterious even to us,” Capricun glanced meaningfully at Leonicus. “But know this: he has a unique blessing for you, and with it an awesome birthright that you never knew you possessed. Be grateful. For you, there is no beginning and no end. There will always be . . . Waspinator.” “Oooo! Zzo, Wazzpinator can carry on with life, and when Megatron azzkzz me to be part of crew I can tell him to zzhove it right up his - -” “Ah! There’s a slight, uh, problem with that idea,” said Capricun, uncomfortably. “If you imagine the circle I just described, uh, standing up on it’s side, then where you are now represents the top of the loop. You have come all the way round, and now it is our job to ensure that you continue back down, that you go around once again. You see, in order to maintain the cycle… In order to maintain the cycle, you have to travel back in time, and be the Waspinator that you were in the Beast Wars, and arrive at this point in the same way once again. You have to do it all again. There is no alternative.” “WHAAAAAT?!?!?!” “There’s a lot made of the inherent possibility in time-travel for creating alternative realities, and certainly the Transformers have been and will be responsible for a lot of that kind of thing during their long span in this universe. Ironically, part of the effect of your perpetual loop is to ensure that there are Transformers in all these alternative universes. So you see, you must live your life again as you have lived it countless times before. This is bigger than you, or any of us. There is no choice.” Waspinator span, desperately looking for a way out, but the circle had drawn in closer, affording him no exit. “Goatbot crazzzy! Go through all that again? Juzzt like before? No chanzze! My life zzuckzz! Why couldn’t Wazzpinator be mighty leader, or at leazzt popular with fem-botzz? Thizz not blezzing – it a curzze! Read my lipzz – I WON’T DO IT!” “There is no choice…” said the Covenant, joining hands. The air was alive with mounting psionic power. “Why me? Thizz not fair. Why univerzze hate Wazzpinator?” he asked softly, his voice almost breaking. “We cannot make your life better,” soothed Capricun as a pale, glowing aura began to form around Waspinator. “That is for you and Primus to sort out between yourselves. What we must do is ensure that you remember none of what has gone before, and return you to the most crucial point in the circle. This is our parting gift to you, most honourable one. It is not much but it is all we have to offer. The Covenant of Primus salutes you.” “We salute you, Waspinator.” Then there was a blinding flash, then the silent darkness of complete and utter void. “Oooo, my head…” Waspinator woke up in a gutter, staring straight up at the bloated, grey Cybertronian sky. It was starting to rain. Around him, Predacons and even the odd Maximal bustled about their business, eager to get to a warm, dry place. None of them paid any attention to Waspinator as he unsteadily got to his feet. They probably wouldn’t have noticed if he’d just fallen out of the sky. Ah, Neo-Kalis. Still as ‘cosmopolitan’, still as begrimed as ever. Waspinator was grouchy, but he wasn’t sure why. Something had upset him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it; it was like an itch that he couldn’t scratch, a strange feeling at the back of his brain. Something wasn’t right. But that was no change. He thought about going home, but for some reason he couldn’t quite remember where home was. Anyway, wasn’t he supposed to be at work? He wasn’t sure. Did he have a job? Maybe he’d lost it – that might explain why he’d woken up in a gutter with a bad head. He tried to focus his mind, but it was like trying to swim breaststroke through cotton wool. Looking around, he saw that ubiquitously familiar logo, the giant ‘M’ – signifying a Maccadams Old Oil House – and realised that he knew one thing for damn sure. He needed a drink. “Ah, Gut, so good to see you again.” “What do you want? I don’t need your kind in here.” “Aha, nonono, there’s no need for your blaster – I’m merely passing through, yess. Tell me, who is that rather depressed-looking sort at the end of the bar?” “Him? Aw, that’s old . . . Waspinator. Yeah, Waspinator. He’s . . . always in here.” “Are you well, Gut? You look . . . peaky.” “What, me? Nah, I’m okay. Yup, that’s Waspinator. He’s always in here. Think he’s related to that guy, Buzz Saw.” “Oh. I’ve already seen Buzz Saw today. I found him to be most . . . disagreeable. Yess.” “Well, Waspinator’s a good sort, I guess. For a Pred.” “Hmm. Thank you.” A shadow was cast over Waspinator. He looked up from his drink to see a large, purple Predacon smiling down at him. Somewhere deep, deep inside his subconscious an alarm bell started to sound, but he wasn’t sure why so he ignored it. “Waspinator, I presume?” “Yezz?” “Greetings. My name is Megatron. Would you mind if I joined you? Bought you a drink, perhaps?” “Be my guezzt.” “Excellent.” Megatron signalled to Gut. “Two slugs of Old Xaaron’s Special, good barkeep. Now, to business. Listen to me carefully, Waspinator. I have, how shall I say, a proposition for you…” “There. It is done.” Leonicus turned away from the monitors, satisfied. Capricun continued to regard the impossibly complex stream of mathematics that flashed across the screen, representing in a language only comprehensible to their advanced computerised brains the rhythms of time and the harmonies of reality. “Indeed it is. The circle is complete, and now we may turn our attention to other things. Leonicus…?” “Yes?” “Have we done the right thing?” “What do you mean, old friend?” “Was Waspinator right? Is this a not blessing for him, but actually a curse?” “‘Blessing’. ‘Curse’. Those are very subjective terms.” “So is our reason for existence. Good versus evil… Good by whose standards? Evil on whose terms? They seem such simple ideals at a surface glance, but to dig a little deeper is to uncover a twisted maze of meanings and ideologies. It is so easy for us to be pious about our divine purpose. Are we to be nothing but the tools of higher powers, pursuing their own agendas?” “A potent question.” “Mmm, and not an easily answerable one; I doubt you and I will find an answer in our lifetimes. The darkness gathers, Leonicus, and we have far too much to do.” “Yes, we do. When one places one’s life and soul in the hands of the Gods, willingly or otherwise . . . then for better or worse, one can assume a small fraction of that divinity, but it has a price. Destiny, as we have seen, is not a thing one has much choice in. We know this, and I think that, deep down, Waspinator knows it too. Ours is not to reason why. Come. There is work to be done.” And, in another time and place… “Predacons – TERRORISE!” Megatron’s body twisted and reshaped itself in a smooth blur, and a mechanical Tyrannosaurus let out a mighty roar as twin jets on either thigh propelled him towards his opponents. Inferno whooped with maniacal joy and unloaded his flamethrower in the direction of the Maximal interlopers. The searing napalm spray was well wide of its target, but it did the job; Rattrap and the newly-reconfigured Cheetor dived for cover. Seeing the leopard-like Maximal who had recently dealt him a crushing defeat, Dinobot let out a feral snarl, transformed and charged to engage the enemy. The fourth Predacon smiled. They had the Maximals outgunned and outnumbered. Victory was surely at hand. Suddenly, a huge shape blocked out the sun. Looking up sharply, he saw the mammoth shape of Optimus Primal swooping out of the sky in jet mode. He yelped in terror, knowing full well what was coming next. The Maximal leader’s weapons lit up as he opened fire and spat supercharged death at him. As, for the umpteenth time in these Beast Wars, he was blown to pieces, he had time for one plaintive cry, a cry that went unheard beneath the roar of Primal’s cannons. “WHY UNIVERZZE HATE WAZZPINATOR?!?!?!!” --------- “There was no time when you nor I nor these kings did not exist.” -Krishna “Here, everything is by design…” -Joy Division --------- |