Challenge Fic: For the Beauty of the Earth (G1 Hound/Earth)
Title: For the Beauty of the Earth
Author: femme4jack
Beta: fierceawakening (I have so much fun chatting about Autobot and Decepticon culture with you. Thanks so much for the awesome feedback!)
Pairing: Hound/Earth
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: AU, OOC (Dark Hound), Dark Fic
Continuity: G1 AU (‘cause my Prowl doesn’t die in no stinkin’ attack on a shuttle, that’s why)
Musical Inspriation: Sting - A Thousand Years (though Guns n Roses - Welcome to the Jungle was in my head, too.)
Notes: Written for the tf_rare_pairing Feb. 2011 challenge. I really did start out writing a sweet Hound/Nature story, but then DarkHound showed up and had other ideas. I have this notion in my head that mechs all have core code associated with their intended function, and that it is impossible to change that code without doing major processor damage. It all works out fine as long as you are part of a cohort that balances you and you can fulfill your function. Problem is in a war mechs end up in lots of situations that conflict with their core coding and leads to all sorts of issues. In this case, Hound's core coding is dedicated to the guardianship of planetary biospheres, and without the balance of the other members of his original team, it leads to "issues".
For the Beauty of the Earth
Hound couldn’t name the moment it happened, but at some point he realized that he loved Earth. Not the cultures, music and media like Jazz, or a single individual like Bumblebee. Not even the human race like Prime. If someone had asked him, he would have admitted that while Spike, Sparkplug, Chip, and Carly were nice enough, he had a great deal of ambivalence for the planet’s dominant species that seemed intent on destroying the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid optics on. No, he was in love with the planet itself.
He’d been originally commissioned as a biologist, a member of an exploratory team. Many of the resources Cybertron needed were found on planets that already supported organic life. His official function was determining how to engage in resource extraction without doing irreversible damage to a planet’s biodiversity. His core coding was guardian, not for individuals, but rather for whole species, ecosystems, and planets.
War had broken out before he’d been sent on his first expedition, and he never made it off Cybertron until he was loaded onto the Ark like so many others: in stasis from lack of energon. Prior to slipping into stasis, his memories were of nothing but battle upon battle on a world that felt dead to him. His core code yearned for the kinds of life that were impossible on Cybertron, even had planet not been devastated by war.
He yearned for water-filled cells rather than energon-feeding nanites. He ached for muscles and organs rather than armor-clad pumps, hydraulics, conduits and laser core. He hungered to feed off a warm, close sun.
He hated Cybertron, though his good nature hid it from all but his closest friends. It was devoid of all he had been created to protect and care for.
When he woke on Earth and drew in his first cooling vent of microbe-laden air, he nearly overloaded with joy. Life was everywhere: in the soil, the air, on every surface including his own. His spark sang to the the symbiotic symphony as mycorrhizal mycelium nurtured the roots of the great Redwoods that would eventually be food for other fungi. The very cells that made up the more complex animals were in and of themselves tiny animals, powered by mitochondria that had at one point in evolutionary history been yet another independent life-form.
He spent orns doing nothing aside from sitting, analyzing the universe found in a handful of soil. On a planet this close to a star, his scout upgrades allowed him to go without fuel for extended periods, his energon converter happily transforming the Sol’s radiation into a form that powered his nanites. He did not lack company; the caress of the wind or the current in a stream were more sensual than the touch of a mech.
Hound couldn’t name the moment when it happened, but at some point he realized that he loved Earth, and that to love Earth meant he could no longer be an Autobot, though none knew his loyalties had changed.
He could not be an Autobot with Jazz’s love of human culture, or Bumblebee’s love of a single human, or even Prime’s love of the human race. He could not be an Autobot because humans were the single greatest threat to the planet he loved, the first world where he could finally fulfill his function. Instead of the careful and efficient harvest of resources his own kind were adept at, the humans were ravaging entire ecosystems with their oil spills, toxic waste, and pollutants. Their farmlands were a waste of chemical fertilizers and pesticides that literally killed the living soil before artificially stimulating its corpse to grow dead food. One could not hear the buzz of an insect of the singing of a bird for thousands of acres. There was a region of China where honeybees had gone extinct due to human agricultural toxins, forcing people to hand-pollinate their fruit trees, flower by flower, if they wanted to be able to earn a living or eat.
The Decepticons had nothing on the humans when it came to destruction. They, at least, were efficient in their resource harvesting. Decepticons didn’t blow the tops off mountains to get at what was inside. No Cybertronian would clog streams with toxic tailings when one could harvest more energon from small hydroelectric generators in water that flowed freely.
The Constructicons had once built an ingenious system to efficiently convert the surface motion of ocean waves into energon. It harmed no living being, and yet the Autobots had destroyed it. Meanwhile, oil rigs rusted and replaced the reefs their spills destroyed, while new ones were built to feed human greed.
The humans gladly shared the products of their pillage with the Autobots, and Hound could hardly swallow the energon, knowing the wounds left behind. At least the 'Cons had the decency to treat human fuel for what it was - the drug of choice for Earth’s delinquent children who had ripped off their mother to feed their addiction. Megatron simply confiscated the humans’ drug and made use of it rather than praising the addicts for their generosity when they shared.
Hound couldn’t name the moment when it happened, but at some point he realized that he loved Earth, and that if he did not act soon, it would be too late for his blue-green lover.
He first picked out those that would be spared - several hunter-gatherer bands that knew how to live in balance, who remembered that they were a part of their living planet. Their populations were small by necessity, and they would remain in the upper Amazon region. He would watch them carefully over the vorns to make sure they did not shift toward agriculture, the beginning of the end for Earth’s most destructive children.
Most of the Autobots had left the planet, trusting the humans to continue sending the energon their way as well-behaved, grateful allies should, especially if they wanted protection from the remaining Decepticons and other, more frightening dangers. He had remained behind, the subject of good-natured ribbing on the part of his friends who believed him so bonded to the Witwicky family that he couldn’t bear to leave. That did bring up one glitch in his plan - what to do about Spike and Carly’s descendents? They did consider him their friend, and he enjoyed taking Daniel’s children and grandchildren out exploring, sharing with them the beauty of a planet they took for granted. He shook his head sadly, but remembered that his guardianship was not of individuals, but rather the biosphere itself. The Witwicky descendants would not have the skills to survive the world that was coming.
Normally when an indigenous population went out of balance on a Cybertronian colony the protocol was to release a tailored virus that inhibited their ability to reproduce. Natural death and limited reproduction brought the population under control in a few generations. As patient as he was, Hound could not afford to wait that long. The humans would notice a dramatic decrease in fertility, and they would contact Prime for help. No, it had to be something fast. He made changes to a deadly airborne virus that would appear to be a natural mutation. The groups he had selected for survival were the most isolated in the world. He would monitor them closely, and if there were any chance it was spreading to them, he could arrest it with a nanite-based vaccine that would alter their immune systems before disappearing without a trace. The primitives who saw him wandering the rough terrain incorporated him into their mythology, as they did with other parts of their environment they could not explain.
Those few humans who lived off world were still a question, but if they returned, he would decide how to deal with them based on their actions.
“The mass extinction of our allies was unfortunate, but we have seen it happen before on planets where the population was so obviously out of balance. It was an epidemic waiting to happen. Fortunately, a few small bands of class 2 primitives survived, so humanity has not gone extinct. I advise no contact with them to allow normal development without our interference until they reach at least class 6. We now have teams in place to engage in resource extraction using far more efficient and sustainable means. I see no reason not to claim Earth as part of the empire. If the primitives emerge from class 2 functioning, we will already be a well-established presence on their planet and can act accordingly.”
Prowl gave his report in the same steady, quiet and factual manner that he used whether reporting on atmospheric conditions, supply-chain logistics, or mass extinction. Only a slight tremor to his sensor wings indicated anything other than calm acceptance of the recent events on Earth.
“And how was Hound when you located him?” Optimus asked, his own deep baritone weary and static-laced.
“Nearly incoherent with grief, Prime,” Jazz responded in a defeated tone so different from his usual animated voice. He had taken the die-off of humanity hard. “He was holdin’ the remains of Daniel’s grandkids, an’ refused to let ‘em go ‘til First Aid put him in temporary stasis. When we brought him back online, he’d calmed down an’ insisted on buryin’ ‘em, and all the descendants of our friends, sayin’ they’d be a part of the soil. He'll plant a garden over their remains so others could remember them by enjoyin’it, spendin’ time with what their bodies helped t’ grow.”
“It sounds like a fitting memorial to them. What of the rest of the human remains? Do we need disposal teams?” Prime asked gravely.
“Indeed. Hound suggests dealing with them the Cybertronian way,” Prowl responded, a hand on his sparkmate’s shoulder. “Where it is environmentally safe to do so, simply allow the animal, fungal and plant life take care of them naturally. In the larger population centers, the decomposition rate will be artificially increased, allowing nature to retake the cities far more quickly than would otherwise happen.”
“Hound’s gonna stay on in his original core function: ensurin’ that our resource extraction doesn’t harm the planet,” Jazz added more brightly. There was no doubt that the scout would thoroughly enjoy finally fulfilling his programmed function. “He’s in love with that planet, and it will help him with his grief over the Witwicky kids.”
Hound couldn’t name the moment when it happened, but at some point he realized that he loved Earth. He especially loved a single garden where he was currently flat on his back, soaking up the sunlight. His new photosynthetic armor could turn the star’s radiation into fuel without the energy-wasting process involved in traditional conversion. His hands caressed the dirt around him, reveling in the universe contained in a single handful of soil. This particular universe contained the rich nutrients provided by decomposed human remains. He brought the soil to his chem sensor and simply enjoyed the scent of the rich loam rather than doing a complex analysis. His intake took in a vent of cooling air, and microbes that had helped break the humans down became part of his own systems.
Author: femme4jack
Beta: fierceawakening (I have so much fun chatting about Autobot and Decepticon culture with you. Thanks so much for the awesome feedback!)
Pairing: Hound/Earth
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: AU, OOC (Dark Hound), Dark Fic
Continuity: G1 AU (‘cause my Prowl doesn’t die in no stinkin’ attack on a shuttle, that’s why)
Musical Inspriation: Sting - A Thousand Years (though Guns n Roses - Welcome to the Jungle was in my head, too.)
Notes: Written for the tf_rare_pairing Feb. 2011 challenge. I really did start out writing a sweet Hound/Nature story, but then DarkHound showed up and had other ideas. I have this notion in my head that mechs all have core code associated with their intended function, and that it is impossible to change that code without doing major processor damage. It all works out fine as long as you are part of a cohort that balances you and you can fulfill your function. Problem is in a war mechs end up in lots of situations that conflict with their core coding and leads to all sorts of issues. In this case, Hound's core coding is dedicated to the guardianship of planetary biospheres, and without the balance of the other members of his original team, it leads to "issues".
For the Beauty of the Earth
Hound couldn’t name the moment it happened, but at some point he realized that he loved Earth. Not the cultures, music and media like Jazz, or a single individual like Bumblebee. Not even the human race like Prime. If someone had asked him, he would have admitted that while Spike, Sparkplug, Chip, and Carly were nice enough, he had a great deal of ambivalence for the planet’s dominant species that seemed intent on destroying the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid optics on. No, he was in love with the planet itself.
He’d been originally commissioned as a biologist, a member of an exploratory team. Many of the resources Cybertron needed were found on planets that already supported organic life. His official function was determining how to engage in resource extraction without doing irreversible damage to a planet’s biodiversity. His core coding was guardian, not for individuals, but rather for whole species, ecosystems, and planets.
War had broken out before he’d been sent on his first expedition, and he never made it off Cybertron until he was loaded onto the Ark like so many others: in stasis from lack of energon. Prior to slipping into stasis, his memories were of nothing but battle upon battle on a world that felt dead to him. His core code yearned for the kinds of life that were impossible on Cybertron, even had planet not been devastated by war.
He yearned for water-filled cells rather than energon-feeding nanites. He ached for muscles and organs rather than armor-clad pumps, hydraulics, conduits and laser core. He hungered to feed off a warm, close sun.
He hated Cybertron, though his good nature hid it from all but his closest friends. It was devoid of all he had been created to protect and care for.
When he woke on Earth and drew in his first cooling vent of microbe-laden air, he nearly overloaded with joy. Life was everywhere: in the soil, the air, on every surface including his own. His spark sang to the the symbiotic symphony as mycorrhizal mycelium nurtured the roots of the great Redwoods that would eventually be food for other fungi. The very cells that made up the more complex animals were in and of themselves tiny animals, powered by mitochondria that had at one point in evolutionary history been yet another independent life-form.
He spent orns doing nothing aside from sitting, analyzing the universe found in a handful of soil. On a planet this close to a star, his scout upgrades allowed him to go without fuel for extended periods, his energon converter happily transforming the Sol’s radiation into a form that powered his nanites. He did not lack company; the caress of the wind or the current in a stream were more sensual than the touch of a mech.
Hound couldn’t name the moment when it happened, but at some point he realized that he loved Earth, and that to love Earth meant he could no longer be an Autobot, though none knew his loyalties had changed.
He could not be an Autobot with Jazz’s love of human culture, or Bumblebee’s love of a single human, or even Prime’s love of the human race. He could not be an Autobot because humans were the single greatest threat to the planet he loved, the first world where he could finally fulfill his function. Instead of the careful and efficient harvest of resources his own kind were adept at, the humans were ravaging entire ecosystems with their oil spills, toxic waste, and pollutants. Their farmlands were a waste of chemical fertilizers and pesticides that literally killed the living soil before artificially stimulating its corpse to grow dead food. One could not hear the buzz of an insect of the singing of a bird for thousands of acres. There was a region of China where honeybees had gone extinct due to human agricultural toxins, forcing people to hand-pollinate their fruit trees, flower by flower, if they wanted to be able to earn a living or eat.
The Decepticons had nothing on the humans when it came to destruction. They, at least, were efficient in their resource harvesting. Decepticons didn’t blow the tops off mountains to get at what was inside. No Cybertronian would clog streams with toxic tailings when one could harvest more energon from small hydroelectric generators in water that flowed freely.
The Constructicons had once built an ingenious system to efficiently convert the surface motion of ocean waves into energon. It harmed no living being, and yet the Autobots had destroyed it. Meanwhile, oil rigs rusted and replaced the reefs their spills destroyed, while new ones were built to feed human greed.
The humans gladly shared the products of their pillage with the Autobots, and Hound could hardly swallow the energon, knowing the wounds left behind. At least the 'Cons had the decency to treat human fuel for what it was - the drug of choice for Earth’s delinquent children who had ripped off their mother to feed their addiction. Megatron simply confiscated the humans’ drug and made use of it rather than praising the addicts for their generosity when they shared.
Hound couldn’t name the moment when it happened, but at some point he realized that he loved Earth, and that if he did not act soon, it would be too late for his blue-green lover.
He first picked out those that would be spared - several hunter-gatherer bands that knew how to live in balance, who remembered that they were a part of their living planet. Their populations were small by necessity, and they would remain in the upper Amazon region. He would watch them carefully over the vorns to make sure they did not shift toward agriculture, the beginning of the end for Earth’s most destructive children.
Most of the Autobots had left the planet, trusting the humans to continue sending the energon their way as well-behaved, grateful allies should, especially if they wanted protection from the remaining Decepticons and other, more frightening dangers. He had remained behind, the subject of good-natured ribbing on the part of his friends who believed him so bonded to the Witwicky family that he couldn’t bear to leave. That did bring up one glitch in his plan - what to do about Spike and Carly’s descendents? They did consider him their friend, and he enjoyed taking Daniel’s children and grandchildren out exploring, sharing with them the beauty of a planet they took for granted. He shook his head sadly, but remembered that his guardianship was not of individuals, but rather the biosphere itself. The Witwicky descendants would not have the skills to survive the world that was coming.
Normally when an indigenous population went out of balance on a Cybertronian colony the protocol was to release a tailored virus that inhibited their ability to reproduce. Natural death and limited reproduction brought the population under control in a few generations. As patient as he was, Hound could not afford to wait that long. The humans would notice a dramatic decrease in fertility, and they would contact Prime for help. No, it had to be something fast. He made changes to a deadly airborne virus that would appear to be a natural mutation. The groups he had selected for survival were the most isolated in the world. He would monitor them closely, and if there were any chance it was spreading to them, he could arrest it with a nanite-based vaccine that would alter their immune systems before disappearing without a trace. The primitives who saw him wandering the rough terrain incorporated him into their mythology, as they did with other parts of their environment they could not explain.
Those few humans who lived off world were still a question, but if they returned, he would decide how to deal with them based on their actions.
“The mass extinction of our allies was unfortunate, but we have seen it happen before on planets where the population was so obviously out of balance. It was an epidemic waiting to happen. Fortunately, a few small bands of class 2 primitives survived, so humanity has not gone extinct. I advise no contact with them to allow normal development without our interference until they reach at least class 6. We now have teams in place to engage in resource extraction using far more efficient and sustainable means. I see no reason not to claim Earth as part of the empire. If the primitives emerge from class 2 functioning, we will already be a well-established presence on their planet and can act accordingly.”
Prowl gave his report in the same steady, quiet and factual manner that he used whether reporting on atmospheric conditions, supply-chain logistics, or mass extinction. Only a slight tremor to his sensor wings indicated anything other than calm acceptance of the recent events on Earth.
“And how was Hound when you located him?” Optimus asked, his own deep baritone weary and static-laced.
“Nearly incoherent with grief, Prime,” Jazz responded in a defeated tone so different from his usual animated voice. He had taken the die-off of humanity hard. “He was holdin’ the remains of Daniel’s grandkids, an’ refused to let ‘em go ‘til First Aid put him in temporary stasis. When we brought him back online, he’d calmed down an’ insisted on buryin’ ‘em, and all the descendants of our friends, sayin’ they’d be a part of the soil. He'll plant a garden over their remains so others could remember them by enjoyin’it, spendin’ time with what their bodies helped t’ grow.”
“It sounds like a fitting memorial to them. What of the rest of the human remains? Do we need disposal teams?” Prime asked gravely.
“Indeed. Hound suggests dealing with them the Cybertronian way,” Prowl responded, a hand on his sparkmate’s shoulder. “Where it is environmentally safe to do so, simply allow the animal, fungal and plant life take care of them naturally. In the larger population centers, the decomposition rate will be artificially increased, allowing nature to retake the cities far more quickly than would otherwise happen.”
“Hound’s gonna stay on in his original core function: ensurin’ that our resource extraction doesn’t harm the planet,” Jazz added more brightly. There was no doubt that the scout would thoroughly enjoy finally fulfilling his programmed function. “He’s in love with that planet, and it will help him with his grief over the Witwicky kids.”
Hound couldn’t name the moment when it happened, but at some point he realized that he loved Earth. He especially loved a single garden where he was currently flat on his back, soaking up the sunlight. His new photosynthetic armor could turn the star’s radiation into fuel without the energy-wasting process involved in traditional conversion. His hands caressed the dirt around him, reveling in the universe contained in a single handful of soil. This particular universe contained the rich nutrients provided by decomposed human remains. He brought the soil to his chem sensor and simply enjoyed the scent of the rich loam rather than doing a complex analysis. His intake took in a vent of cooling air, and microbes that had helped break the humans down became part of his own systems.