29.April.06

The Beginning

By: Sinead  

~< Part Seven >~

Awn’néad was working up a normal sweat and was grinning at her opponent through her armor, and then attacked fiercely. Her sword was only a silver arc that flashed through the air at such a great speed that the air hummed around it. Only another experienced warrior could parry such a blow. And the opponent was indeed as, if not more, experienced as her.

The flame-haired maiden ~oops!~ warrior was now fourteen-and-a-half, and could kick just about anyone’s butt if and when she felt like it.

“Adversaries! Fight called off! Cease engagement immediately!” the overseer’s voice said. “Remove helmets!”

Awn’néad removed her helmet and smiled widely when she saw who she had been fighting all the while.

Steele.

“You scrapheap! I knew your helmet looked vaguely familiar!” Awn’néad said happily. “Not to mention your style! Isn’t there only one other bot who uses your fighting style?”

“Three, actually,” Steele replied. “You’ve only met Bladestar. I might introduce you to the other two later, if I get a chance.” He smiled warmly, quite an uncharacteristic move for him. “Altaire, Stormblend, and Optimus were watching you every second. They knew who I was, and they said that they’d keep it a secret. I’m still amazed at the fact that you can move so easily and freely in all that armor. To admit, I was quite clumsy in my early years.” Steele was grinning in a somewhat embarrassed fashion.

Awn’néad chuckled and replied, “Oh, I believe you. And after that hit to my shoulder, I’d believe anything. It’ll take me at least a week to piece together my chain mail, and even longer to realign the buckles!”

Steele smiled kindly, again against his nature to do so in public, and said, “When you repair armor, you also repair yourself, in a way. Not only are you mending the physical, but also the mental.”

Awn’néad agreed, and they then went into the R pool chamber room. There, they saw Optimus and the rest of the Guardians. Only Electra was missing, which was odd since she was usually there to celebrate everything that Awn’néad achieved.

“Off with that armor, Awn’néad,” Stormblend ordered. “I want to see that cut on your shoulder.”

Awn’néad gladly obliged, and unhitched the thin chain that connected her two shoulder plates on the front. Then, she unfastened the bolt that let the plate rotate upwards by about thirty degrees. She undid her right one with difficulty, and Altaire had to help her. Once they were removed, Awn’néad and her Guardians were able to see a spot of blood seeping through the tear in her chain mail on her left shoulder.

With her right hand, she undid the gorget, or the strips of metal protecting her neck and throat. Then, she unbuckled the plate on her left hand, which kept her thumb in a grasping position, to protect it from hyper-extending or breaking. Once her lower- and upper-arm plates were unbuckled and off, there was a rather large blood-stain on her shoulder. This time, Optimus unbuckled and removed her arm defenses, and with a grim face as well. Altaire helped Awn’néad with the buckles that she couldn’t reach on her breastplate and lower-breastplate. Instead of removing her leg defenses at that point, which would have been the usual procedure, Altaire and Stormblend pulled the chain-mail tunic over Awn’néad’s head, leaving her armed from the waist down.

When she was in her skintight fighting gear, Steele saw the blow that he had dealt, which was the only one that slowed Awn’néad by merely a fraction. It was on her left shoulder, and it was deep. As a result, she left her shield behind and used only her sword for blocking. He looked away, silently removing his armor, unable to think of anything else than what his punishment would be.

Awn’néad took one look at her left shoulder, swallowed, and then started chatting away as if she was out on a social picnic, rather than getting her wound cleaned out bit by painful bit. Altaire noted that Steele wasn’t with them, and almost walked over to him when she caught Awn’néad’s eye. She shook her head slightly, meaning that she would talk to Steele before anyone else would, so he wouldn’t end up blowing up at them for not leaving him alone. Both Awn’néad and Altaire had vaguely seen the darker half of Steele, and neither wanted to subject the others to that. It was a part of him that was bitter at something or someone, but it came out when he was unusually distressed about something beyond his control.

The Predacon couldn’t bring himself to look at her, for his shame was so deep. He was forever dishonored, by striking the daughter of Sinead, and his own charge, at that. He hurt the one he swore to protect.

A half-hour passed slowly as Steele sat brooding in an R pool. Finally, a shadow come across his vision. Looking up, he saw Awn’néad, her arm in a sling, and she was wearing her now-trademark baggy fabric pants in a navy blue, and a royal blue top, one that almost exactly matched Steele’s facial and highlight color for his torso and legs. He looked down, away from her, whispering on a frequency that he knew she probably wouldn’t be able to hear him on, “I’m sorry. Forgive me, please, Awn’néad. I didn’t mean to hit you that deeply.”

With a shameful look into Awn’néad’s eyes, Steele felt himself being pulled into those emerald depths. In them, he saw no anger, no fear, no hatred at all. Instead, he saw trust, patience, and her love for him, as one friend would cherish another beloved friend. And most of all, he saw forgiveness.

Awn’néad smiled gently, forgivingly, and said upon the same frequency, “I’ll try to remember that you quite enjoy going after my left side. And if I forget, I’ll most likely get a reminder sooner or later.”

“Or never,” Steele murmured softly, knowing that was her way of forgiving him. His mind couldn’t even register that she was speaking on a level that was inaudible to human ears.

“Then, I’ll remember, my teacher. I’ll remember,” Awn’néad replied, holding her good arm out for him to pull himself out of the pool.

He looked back at her green eyes, and took her hand, standing.

“How can you speak on that level?” Optimus asked over lunch at the stilt-house.

“Huh?” was the intelligent reply from Sinead.

Stormblend stared in shock at Awn’néad. “What did she do?”

“She spoke on frequency,” Optimus replied, sitting back in his chair, “with Steele. He apologized for the wound, and she spoke back to him on that level!”

Stormblend chuckled, reached over, and brushed his hand across the top of the copper hair, effectively ignoring Optimus’ small tirade of disbelief. “Good girl.”

“So other humans can’t do that?” Awn’néad asked, blinking up at her teacher.

“Not really,” was the reply. “Your mother could, though. And her mother before her. It’s helped in negotiating as well as listening in and protecting yourself.” Storm chuckled. “And Sinead could keep an extremely sarcastic and caustic running commentary with a friend about almost anything at all while she politely spoke with officials about a separate matter.”

“Mom could speak like that, then?”

“And did so almost all the time.”

“How do you know that?”

Stormblend smiled kindly. “I knew her. I taught her, just as I’m teaching you. I also taught Ian.”

“You taught both Mom and Dad?” Awn’néad asked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Stormblend rested his hand upon her shoulder, pulling her close so he could kiss her forehead in the way an uncle or a grandfather would. “I’ll answer that for you when you’re a little older, Awn. There are still things that your parents wouldn’t have wanted you to lean about until you were ready to deal with them.”

“But when will you tell me?” she asked softly. “I wanna know more about Mom and Dad.”

The tone of her voice almost broke Stormblend’s heart as he looked up to see Steele watching from the doorway, the younger bot’s face melancholy. Then the boy knew, eh? Sighing, Stormblend answered, “When you’re able to handle the hard facts, Awnnie, we’ll tell you. Please trust us.”

She looked up at him, then nestled herself deeper into his embrace, nodding.

Later that day, Awn’néad was in a conference room with the Head of the Aero-Space Tech-Corps. She was with Cyclone, Steele, and Optimus, and she was getting her design of a new type of StarCruiser appraised. Designing space-craft were a toss-aside hobby that was chanced upon when the human had come upon Pyrofreeze fooling around with an upgrade design program. Things had moved on from there.

The Chief, as he introduced himself, kept shaking his head from side to side while he was going through the sketches, one by one. Amazement was clearly written all over his face. He couldn’t believe that a fifteen-year-old came up with these blueprints all by herself. He had asked Optimus wether she had any help, but Optimus had simply smiled and said that she had done everything by herself. Which, of course, Pyrofreeze had told him to say. The Brooklynese-speaking bot didn’t want anything of the limelight that being around Awn’néad gave. If he was gonna watch her from the shadows, then the only way he could be connected with her was through an “informal” friendship with Stormblend.

Finally, Chief looked at Awn’néad. “Do you know how many months it took for technicians to come up with plans half as detailed as this? Seven. Seven months And you said that it only took you two months to start with the initial sketches to the finals? And that it includes all the wiring and piping?”

“Yes,” Awn’néad replied evenly. “You’re holding them in your hands now.”

“Amazing.”

“That’s what everyone says about me,” Awn’néad replied, rolling her eyes, a smile brightening her features. Although . . . deep down, she felt a smidgen of despair edge around her soul. She didn’t want to be considered “amazing.” She wanted to be just plain “normal.” That was it, and nothing more. But, being that she was who she was, she said nothing, knowing that she had to act, if only to convince others that she still had her own “plain” and “normal” life to live, and not the public’s “amazing” one.

Chief laughed, clearly believing the public’s inflated view of Awn’néad, and the human asked, “So tell me: Do you think it’ll work?”

“I do believe so, but I’ll need to talk with some of the veterans of the Aero-Space for their opinion. I have a feeling that everything will work out just fine,” Chief replied, smiling.

“Thank you. I will return tomorrow, if it’s possible. But please, don’t tell them who I am, or even that I’m human. I don’t want them to know just yet.”

“Yes. Everything will be ready by tomorrow.”

“Until then,” Awn’néad said, walking to the door. Steele was right behind her.

She opened the door, and saw a tall Cybertronian standing right in her path. She looked into his face, and saw Evil.

“Primus,” she whispered, and backed into Steele, who was ready to draw his sword. His backup weapons were already on-line; his eyes were a neon green. Awn’néad ripped the sling off her arm and shoulder, and then signaled to Steele to toss her silver sword to her if a battle were to break out. Awn’néad’s voice was silky with anger, as she demanded, “Who are you?”

“You know who I am, weakling. Ha! Weak indeed, just like Sinead and her beloved Ian, yes.”

Awn’néad flicked her wrist, and a sword leapt into her hands, supplied by Steele. She moved quickly, ignoring the pain radiating from her left shoulder.

The tall bot suddenly found himself with his back to a wall, with a dark grey double-edged sword at his throat.

“Megatron,” Awn’néad hissed. “I will kill you if you say another thing like that about my parents. I can promise you that.”

Steele came out into the hallway and glared death at Megatron, raising his sword swiftly to the chest of the other Predacon. Security guards came running and Awn’néad said, “As long as I live, you will regret having said that to my face. Remember that.”

And with one swift move, Awn’néad knocked Megatron senseless and the security guards caught up with them. “What happened here?” the leader asked.

Chief came into the hallway, and replied for Awn’néad, “This one here, just, uh, disparaged Sinead and Ian, and Awn’néad apparently made sure that he won’t be doing so for a while.”

“Is this true?” he asked, looking at Awn’néad, Steele, Optimus and Cyclone. 

“Yes,” Optimus replied. “She and Steele moved quickly, while we were too shocked to move at first.”

“By the insult?”

“No, at who it was.”

“Primus save us all,” one of the guards said. “That’s Megatron.”

Awn’néad nodded, and Cyclone held out her sling. Steele took her sword, and Awn’néad put the sling on, wincing as she maneuvered her arm into a more comfortable position.

“What happened to your arm?” a young guard asked.

Awn’néad didn’t even glance at Steele as she replied, “I was being tested by a fellow warrior, and I apparently made a wrong move.”

“He won?”

“It was called off by the judges.”

“So ’ya got a battle wound.”

“Sorta,” Awn’néad recalled, as Megatron was put into bonds.

The next day, Awn’néad, Cyclone, Steele, and Altaire went back to the Aero-Space Tech-Corps. They met with the Chief, and four of the “Veterans,” who had wanted to meet the person who had designed this space craft. Chief didn’t tell them that it was the daughter of Sinead and Ian that had done it. Awn’néad had personally asked him to keep it a secret. Their jaws just about hit the floor when Awn’néad entered the room.

“You?” one of them asked. “The daughter of Sinead and Ian designed these blueprints? Why didn’t you tell us that she drew them, Chief?”

“I asked him not to tell you because you would have accepted them just to please me,” Awn’néad replied with a smile on her face.

“Well, then. Let me introduce myself,” the bot said, extending his hand. “My name is Steelbend.”

“Nice to meet you, Steelbend. Who are your comrades?”

“Oh, sorry. This is Tornado, StarFreeze, and Hyperblast.”

“That is,” Hyperblast amended. “I was hyper all during school. I’ve mellowed out during my years as of late. Pity that the name stuck.”

Awn’néad chuckled. “Tell me the truth: Did my sketches meet all requirements?”

“As you have asked,” StarFreeze said slowly, “I will tell you the absolute truth. Your drawing went above and beyond any and all of the requirements that were previously upheld.”

“What do you mean, ‘previously’?” Altaire asked slowly.

“Thirteen new amendments have been added, thanks to Awn’néad. Among topics are shell thickness, heat factor, and engine weight. Everything has become lighter, smaller, more effective, and by a long shot, more durable. Some of the alloys that she has suggested, well, we’re sort of embarrassed about this part.”

“Don’t be,” Awn’néad replied, smiling. “Just tell me everything.”

“Steelbend, you explain it better than me. You’re the metals expert,” StarFreeze said.

“Alright. As we said, we are truly embarrassed. Most of the alloys that you have said to have mixed, well, we’ve never even thought of trying to mix. Do you have the samples?” Steelbend replied.

“Yes, of course,” Awn’néad acknowledged, already digging into her bag that she was carrying. “I had thought that you’d ask about that section, so I brought them.”

She handed five different pieces of metal to Steelbend. Each was about three inches square, and half an inch thick.

“They barely even weigh eight cubes all together!” Steelbend whispered in awe, handing them around.

Nothing was said for a good five minutes, and Awn’néad wondered what Stormblend would think of it.

“Who is your chemistry teacher?” Chief asked.

“His name is Stormblend.”

“You’re kidding. The Stormblend?”

“Stormblend has been my teacher and Sub-Guardian ever since I was four years old. He was my Head Guardian Optimus Prime’s teacher for at least six years before that.”

“Did he suggest any of these materials?”

“No. He just let me try as many combinations as I thought that I needed. Most of the others were either too heavy or too brittle. Those five alloys were the only ones that passed most of the tests, with the exception of one each.”

“Which one?”

“Well,” Awn’néad started. “For the silver alloy, it was heat. The reddish one was stress upon the middle, the gray was withstanding atmospheric pressure, you know, basically, entering the atmosphere at high speeds. The black one was the best at that test . . .”

The day wore on and it was almost eight PM when Awn’néad finally got the answer that she had been waiting for.

“Awn’néad O’Rion, we have decided long ago about your StarCruiser,” Chief started.

Awn’néad, Altaire, Steele, and Cyclone each held their breath, when Chief said, “And we have decided that your plans were accepted.”

Awn’néad sat down in her chair suddenly, and smiled.

“All RIGHT!!!” Cyclone yelled, and hugged Awn’néad, careful not to touch her left shoulder.

When Awn’néad was walking out of the building, she felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted gently off of her shoulders, by some powerful unknown, yet gentle and wise, being.

Before she entered the cafeteria, she put on a sullen face, but her eyes glimmered with an undying light. The cafeteria was silent when she walked in. Some of the closer Candy Stripers saw her eyes and knew what she was up to.

She walked deeper into the cafeteria and saw Optimus, Stormblend, and Electra standing at the far end.

“Kill the suspense, already!” one of the young teenagers yelled out. “Did or didn’t ’ya get your blueprints accepted?!”

“Alright, fine!” Awn’néad yelled back, then murmured, “They were . . . accepted.”

Wild cheering broke out, and Optimus ran over and embraced Awn’néad. Quite suddenly though, it died down. Awn’néad turned toward the front door, and saw Nightbreeze, the Head Maximal Elder, standing there.

“Optimus Prime, I need to see you, the Guardians, and your charge, Awn’néad, in your Conference Room at once,” she said, her voice sounding thin and reedy, depicting her age. However, despite that age, she walked at a brisk pace with strong steps. The named people followed Nightbreeze into the Conference Room and sat down at the table. The Maximal Elder looked at the human solemnly. “I have heard about your encounter with Megatron, Young One. He has escaped from the penitentiary that he was temporarily being held in, and has now been missing for more than thirteen megacycles.”

“Slaggit,” Electra whispered.

“Do you have something to say, young Electra?” Nightbreeze asked, with a slight sneer.

“Uh, no Ma’am,” Electra said quietly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Like I was saying before I was interrupted, he’s missing. I’d advise you to keep indoors for a while. You shouldn’t have to go out for anything, I don’t believe. I want Megatron captured as soon as possible, and there is a hefty reward for whoever has any information about him.”

“Matrix,” Awn’néad sighed, and sat back in her chair. “I need to keep my arm in good health, or else it would be ruined for at least three months. There isn’t any room here for me to practice with Steele and Altaire. Trust me. We’ve already looked.”

“What about any spare rooms?” Nightbreeze suggested.

“All of the extra quarters are used for storage,” Stormblend replied. “The only place would be the indoor courtyard, but we’d have to make numerous renovations to the floor in order for it to withstand the, uh, extremes, of sword-fighting. The cafeteria is out of the question, simply because the tables are bolted to the floor, and they can’t be cleared to accommodate the space their training needs.”

“I see.” Nightbreeze was thinking hard. She thought that it would be wrong to take funds, and just use them to build. There had to be a reason . . .

“What if,” Nightbreeze said. “Awn’néad, Altaire, and Steele were to practice on the courtyard, would you say that Awn’néad could possibly get killed? That it is structurally unsound?”

“Most lik- Matrix, you’re right!” Stormblend said, catching onto what the Maximal Elder was implying. “When I stood on it a week ago, I could feel it shifting slightly!”

“We need to rebuild it, or else our girl could be killed. I’ll get that funding right away. Oh, and do you have enough supplies to last a while?”

“Yes,” Electra replied after typing into the computer, finding the inventory status. “Just about enough to last us a month or so.”

“Then I’ll be seeing you all later,” Nightbreeze said, and left the room. Awn’néad and her Guardians walked out of the room after her to look at how much they would need to repair the old courtyard in the exact center of the third floor.

That night, Electra snuck out of the stilted house as quickly and quietly as she could. She had to be by the third stilt at midnight, or else there would be no knowing what possible tortures there would be in store for her.

She saw the dark figure standing in the shadows, the only thing that was giving him away was his blood-red, pink-irised optics. Electra hurried over to him.

“I’ve got it,” she whispered, and held out a disc to him.

“Good. And this is what she will be doing for the next week? If it isn’t, you know you will not get your reward,” an oily voice replied as a hand took the disc from her, letting his fingers brush hers.

“Of course it’s her schedule. What else would it be?” Electra stopped, and the looked steadily at the red optics. “And on a more personal note, can I get a down payment, or will it just have to wait?” Electra said, her voice changing to a luring purr.

“Hmm. You are getting to be just as slippery as Revengence.” The bot stepped out of the shadows, and stroked her cheek. “I like that . . .”

They never saw the security camera watch and hear the whole thing.

“By the sweet Primus,” Stormblend said, his shoulders hunching over, and looking unbelievingly at Steele, who was staring at the screen with pure disgust . . .

Awn’néad woke up to see a pair of crimson optics looming before her face. “Nnnmmph . . . Steele? What’s wrong now?”

Steele looked her sadly in the eyes. “There has been a traitor in our midst.”

“What?”

“Stormblend sent me to wake you up and bring you down to the lab. Everyone else is there, including said turncoat. Get dressed and meet me outside your door,” Steele replied gruffly, walking out of the room.

Awn’néad did as Steele said, and looked up at him when she exited her room. His face was barely holding back rage and sadness. She wrapped her arms around his waist, the highest up on him that she could reach. He awkwardly embraced her, then gently pulled out of it to start walking. Awn’nead walked barefoot, following him to Stormblend’s lab silently.

Once she was inside the room and it was made sure that there was nobody in the hall, Awn’néad demanded, “What is going on here? Steele told me of a traitor, but I don’t think that I know one of you who would do anything to hurt me.”

“Then you’d all better watch this,” Stormblend replied, tapping a few keys on his laptop.

A view from a security camera was displayed on the screen, the time 23:54 in the upper-right corner. They saw a shortish bot walking cautiously toward the third pillar that held the house up. The camera zoomed in and when the bot turned to look behind her, it caught her face. It was Electra.

Awn’néad looked over her shoulder and saw that Steele had posted himself at one door, and Stormblend at the other. She looked back at the screen, watching grimly.

Awn’néad could hear Electra talking, a little tinny over the video. The other voice was deep, and held a familiarity that she couldn’t quite place until the other bot stepped out of the shadows. He touched Electra’s cheek, then they kissed and separated.

“You dirty-” Awn’néad started, then lost the power to speak, she was so enraged. When she did speak, she turned to look at Electra, who was squirming uncomfortably, with her arms held behind her back by Stormblend. “Why? Why, Electra? I trusted you. And how do you repay me? With a stab in my back. With no offence to Steele-”

“With this issue,” Steele interrupted. “I will take no offence to any statement.”

“Thanks,” Awn’néad started again. “Like I was saying, you’re no better than a Predacon. You came here, and became a part-time Guardian, or, was that all a scheme, too? And above all, we find you talking, ugh, kissing with the bot that sanctioned the murder of my mother! Megatron! And I can almost bet that it was you who told Megatron where my old room was. And, I can bet that it was you who told Megatron about Raynah being my friend. So he tried to kill her, but only succeeds in injuring her mother, killed her mother’s Guardian, and almost maimed her own Guardian. And, you probably told him that I was at the Aero-Space Corps, so that he can try to kill me. So tell me, just tell me, how many of those things that I have named are true?”

Electra looked at the floor, and said in a defeated voice, “When I came here, the only way to pay my tuition was to become a Predacon guised up as a Maximal. If you scanned me with a decent enough scanner, I’d come up as a Pred. I didn’t tell him about your old room. And I didn’t tell Megatron about Raynah. A bot named Revengence did. I knew that you were at the Aero-Space, but I still thought that you and Steele would be fighting at the Arena. I didn’t tell him that willingly. And he–” She swallowed. “He said that he’d kill those who were close to me if I didn’t do as he said. He’d kill my family.”

“Primus, Electra. You . . . you say it, Steele. I’m too tired to deal with this,” Awn’néad said, leaning on a desk wearily.

Steele snorted, then snarled with utter malice in his voice, “You are a slu-”

“Nevermind, Steele, and let’s not go there,” Awn’néad sighed. “You must have no honor whatsoever, masquerading around as a Maximal, and one of the elite, too. I’ve been told that my Guardians are the best. I’m not proud. I’ve just chosen carefully who I wanted to trust. You qualified, but now, I really don’t know what to do, except tell you to leave. I trusted you, Electra. I really had trusted you.”

Awn’néad left the room, closely followed by Altaire and Steele, rearranging the week’s schedule and naming a few of the people who they’d have to get in touch with. Optimus caught up with them, but didn’t say anything. He knew that Awn’néad would take care of this in her own way. She’d go around as if nothing happened, then talk about it with him right before she’d go to bed. It was just her way.

“Awn’néad!”Cyclone called, running down the hall, his face anxious and saddened.

Awn’néad turned around, and asked, “Yeah?”

“Storm wanted me to tell you that you’re supposed to come to him and start planning on the inner courtyard as soon as possible,” Cyclone replied, as soon as he caught up with them.

“Could you tell him that I just need some time to myself? I need to think some things over,” Awn’néad replied sadly.

“Sure, yeah,” Cyclone said, and put his hand on Awn’néad’s good shoulder, then walked back down the hall to the Lab.

The human child basically told Steele and Altaire to take time off to themselves. This was a situation that everyone needed to take care of in their own separate ways. A good friend had just become an enemy in what seemed to be an eternity, yet . . . no time at all.

Reaching the outer courtyard, a place that was above and to the left of the area that she and Cyclone used to ride their bikes in, Awn’néad looked over the area. She walked across a small Chinese-style bridge with Cybertronian flourishes and into the courtyard, which had been turned into a flower garden of sorts. Right in the very center there was a large tree that had branches that hung down to the ground. There were flowers swirling in a spiral around it, and one path that led up to the tree itself. Awn’néad walked slowly up to the tree and placed her hands on its smooth bark, then closed her eyes. She rested her forehead against the trunk, leaning her weight against the continuous masterpiece of nature.

The tears were few at first. A drop here or there, but they became steadily swifter, and she didn’t try to restrict them. A hand placed itself on her right shoulder, and she turned to face Optimus. He held his arms open and embraced Awn’néad gently, almost exactly like a father would, being careful of her injured shoulder. In more ways than one, Optimus could qualify as Awn’néad’s father. Not literally, genetically, of course, but mentally and emotionally. They had known each other for the majority of the human’s life.

As the tears slowed, Awn’néad started talking, voicing her feelings out loud, sometimes raging, sometimes sobbing.

And the Guardian remained there throughout it all . . .

Click here for part 8