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shadow_vector2010-04-08 11:08 pm
Redeem 13: This is where I will die
Verse: Bayverse
Characters: Barricade, OC
Summary: Barricade is settled in to his new....accommodations.
13. This is Where I Will Die.
USS Dreadnought
They’d landed on one of the big flat-topped ships called ‘aircraft carriers’. A huge crowd of humans gathered around the flightline. The fact that they seemed color-coded—clumps of them in matching colored jerseys—struck Barricade as funny. Always, these humans, trying to make teams. Identify themselves with a group. Yeah, Autobots did that, and look how far it got them. Decepticons valued individuality. The bad side of that, though, was you were only as good as your last performance.
So: time to perform. These, he told himself, are your fans. And indeed they didn’t look anywhere near as hateful or hostile as he’d imagined. Sternburgh—well, he didn’t trust Sternburgh’s motives at all. Behind Sternburgh’s eyes, he’d seen the same iron core he saw in his own side’s warriors. When pushed to it, Sternburgh could kill, without hesitation, without remorse. And he could smile while he was doing it.
Barricade respected that. He was the same way. But that didn’t mean he let his guard down. Though he didn’t really know why he was keeping it up, other than pure reflex. Did it really matter? Did he really intend to make some valiant stand?
Starscream had told him once—some ridiculous warrior Seeker pseudo-philosophical slag—that one couldn’t choose the time or manner of one’s death, merely how one chose to meet it. The idea being Barricade was supposed to rush towards it with open arms. Turn his death into some art piece, some monument to valor and how he lived his life. All Barricade was hoping for was not to die on his knees and sobbing.
But these humans seemed more curious than anything else. Maybe they’d never worked with the Autobots before and he was the first real up-close Cybertronian they’d seen.
He pulled himself awkwardly—his hands still bound—from the copter’s belly and let them get an eyeful. Did him no good to try to come off as ‘big vicious Decepticon.’ Besides, it might come in handy later if he had them convinced of his harmlessness. So he stood and let them look. He stared at the deck. They expected him to look around, show curiosity at his new surroundings, his new home. This wasn’t his home: this was where he would die. He was in no hurry to get acquainted with it.
Sternburgh took control like an impresario, directing a path through the crowd to a side of the deck that turned out to be an elevator, gesturing at Barricade to follow and not even looking back to see if he did. Well, he could probably hear the footsteps: Barricade’s alloy footplates against the steel of the deck were audible even over the muttering of the crowd and the distant, yet present, ocean sound and the throb of huge engines. Watching him, knowing now, Barricade could see the slight hitch in Sternburgh’s gait as he walked.
“Home sweet home,” Sternburgh quipped as the elevator took them to a level under the deck. Dozens of aircraft filled the space, wings folded back, or up, rotors pinned back, to make each take the smallest amount of space possible. Barricade winced—it seemed wrong. Overcrowded.
No. Not mechs. Planes. Dumb, nonsentient aircraft. Primus, Barricade, next you’re going to be feeling sorry for the toaster. Projection. Feeling sorry for yourself but don’t want to own it so…hello poor victimized aircraft. Right.
“Cozy,” he said, dryly. Don’t die on your knees, Barricade. Don’t go out crying.
Sternburgh began walking backward, like a tour guide. “Steel and powerlines around this make it a natural block to your communications. We’ve added, of course, more official jammers, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with us. Down here,” he led Barricade to the front of the ship, “Anchor room.” The room had huge chains, each link the size of one of Barricade’s feet, spooled around heavy engines. He could smell the tang of the salt-corroded metal. It smelled like his mood.
“You’ll be staying in the back. We have an engineering team—a small one—that used to work in Diego Garcia, who will see to your physical maintenance. Tell them what you need, if they don’t already figure it out. They say they know what they’re doing, but….” He shrugged, eloquently, trying to position himself on Barricade’s side. Barricade didn’t buy it.
“You’re being awfully quiet,” Sternburgh said. His tone was light but he was watching the mech carefully.
“Overwhelmed,” Barricade said, blandly. He ducked into the room Sternburgh showed him. About half the size of his recharge on the Nemesis. Not that that was any sort of hallmark of luxury accommodation. But it was so…empty. No datatracks. No datapads. Nothing. Just bleak, barely-white painted steel, marked here and there by bleak, barely-white overpainted rivets. He felt, ridiculously, the first twinge of worry. He would go mad in here with just these four walls to stare at. They wouldn’t have to torture him. He’d break just from being locked in with his own thoughts. His own past.
“This okay?” Sternburgh asked, leaning against the doorframe. He looked…tired. Keeping up the persona must be as exhausting for humans as it was for him. Or maybe it was the fluorescent light bleaching his skin.
“When do I get my bedtime story?”
A tired smile. “Have to ask the engineers. You’ll be okay here, right?” Something like actual concern: the change in pitch was audible. Barricade wondered if Sternburgh knew he was bleeding emotion that badly. He hoped he was managing better. He forced his tone.
“Yeah. Be fine. Always am.” Even when I’m so obviously not. Is it a lie if everyone else believes it but you?
“Guards out here all the time,” Sternburgh said. “With the motion block for your legs, just in case you try a different kind of funny stuff.” A flash of a smile that didn’t dare approach his eyes. “Ask them if you need anything.”
Right. Let on that he needed anything. Try this one, since it had already been promised. He lifted his bound hands. “Any chance of this? Hard to pick my nose like this.” Actually, in a room this small he’d be in agony if he had to recharge in his robot mode. But he couldn’t transform like this. And he wasn’t going to say that. Show them no weakness.
“You don’t have a nose.” Sternburgh grinned. Again, almost sincere. “But yeah. I’ll get the engineers now. You settle in.” A flicker on his face. “You know, as much as you can.”
“Yeah, I’ll just be here admiring the view.” Barricade shook his head. When Sternburgh got tired, he bled like crazy. This was useful. No. This might have been useful. If he’d had anything to exploit it for.
He looked around the rectangular room of oystery-white and was struck with a sudden regret that he hadn’t looked around while on the deck of the carrier. His last days, and he would have no recollection of the smell of open air, or the sun, or water, or space. It was the last one that bothered him the most. Even on a confined starship, you could see the stars. Could see the universe unfolding itself, effortlessly vast, in front of you. Always, a sense of space.
He had these four walls that he could touch simultaneously. As the last things he’d ever see.
He hoped no cameras in the room caught his despair.
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I would be hugging Barricade so hard right now if I didn't think he'd squish me.
.....Actually, no, I'd be hugging him anyway!
Poor 'Cade, trying so hard to put on a brave face... D: *wibbles*
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I am still not sure how to take Sternburgh... do we trust him do we not? Can't wait to find out
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Evil evil foreshadowing!! *hits foreshadowing with a 2x4 just because she can*
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