A Work in Progress

New Years Day, 2133. The so-called Golden Age of Cybertron was in place, but for the inhabitants of that planet, times were far from golden. The war still raged, though far from the planet where it began. The Autobots retained control of Cybertron and, for the most part, Earth. The Decepticons had captured Nebulos and several surrounding systems. More worrisome, they were slowly spreading deeper into the galaxy.

On Earth, where a small contingent of Autobots stood guard, the Decepticons existed in the form of Trypticon and a handful of other warriors. Despite the constant presence of the ancient enemies, peace remained the status quo. Galvatron apparently had a grander scheme in mind.

Not that any of this mattered to Grapple. He lay in his cot in the infirmary in silence, staring at the ceiling. He looked down at his new leg, his fifth in the last twenty years. First Aid remained at a loss as to what caused the degenerative disease that forced Grapple into this room. The disease, called Freeze's Disease after the only other documented case, had no known cure. It was everything First Aid could do to just keep up with the degeneration, replacing limbs and components as needed. Grapple remembered when in started, not long after the great battle at Autobot City 128 years earlier. It wasn't until he lost feeling in his hand did he really start to worry. Now, here he was. Despite First Aid's encouragement, Grapple doubted he would live to see New Years Day, 2134.

Grapple rarely felt sorry for himself any more though; he had had too long to consider his fate. He turned his head and calmly gazed at his unfinished masterpiece waiting for him two miles away. After the destruction of the Autobot mausoleum, Grapple decided to construct an elaborate monument to his fallen friends. Such a project would normally take him several weeks, maybe a month. Instead, this damned disease afflicted him just after laying the base of the monument and the project remained unfinished over a hundred years later. No, he did not feel sorry for himself. He felt sorry for the brave warriors who would be honored there if he ever finished it. Especially you, Hoist, Grapple thought gravely.

Remembrances of his friend suddenly emboldened him. “What are you doing lying here?” he wanted to scream. He could still finish the monument. He could still give what he could to the memory of his friends. Maybe, he thought, it's time for a New Year's Resolution. He was maddening close to finishing. He needed to complete the steeple and fix the glitch in the lighting. The latter was a job, he thought sadly, better suited for Hoist. The plaques honoring the deceased were in place, with a surviving Autobot writing a memorandum below the likeness; the entrance secured; and the protective forcefield in place. All that was needed was a bit of grunt work.

Grapple swung his legs gingerly around to the side of cot. He struggled to his feet and cautiously took several steps as First Aid entered the room.

"What are doing? Get back into bed," First Aid ordered.

Grapple continued forward. "I have a project to attend to. I'll rest when I am finished."

First Aid stepped in front of him. "You know there are many interested parties chomping at the bit to finish the monument. Why do you have to do it and risk further damage to yourself? How will you get better?"

Grapple glared down at the smaller Autobot. "You and I both know I'll be lucky to see summer, so don't insult my intelligence." He walked around the stunned medic. "The longer I lay around the less time I have to complete it. Soon I may not be able to walk at all. I have to do this."

All First Aid could do was nod sadly as his patient exited the infirmary.

* * *

Grapple stood before the last structure he would ever build with his eyes closed. He envisioned in his mind the completed monument and smiled. Despite his modesty, he could not help but glow with pride. The mixture of modern and old-style construction, the towering steeple, the spacious interior all reflected the honor exuded by the fallen Autobots.

Grapple thought back to First Aid's suggestion. Every other visitor to Grapple's room was an Autobot (and occasionally a human) architect requesting the honor to finish the job. A half a dozen Micromasters were itching to complete it. For a hundred years, Grapple had turned them away. They were talented, of that there was no doubt. But most of the Autobots honored inside the monument had perished long before the Micromasters came online. Perhaps it was arrogant to think that he put such passion in the project because it represented so many friends. But it still seemed important.

Enough introspection, he thought. Grapple retracted his welder into his wrist and replaced to with a pulley, a necessary measure since he could no longer transform into his crane mode. Once the pulley was secured, Grapple turned around and grasped a sheet of metal siding. For two minutes, he tried to lift it. He barely lifted it from the ground before slipped from his grasp..

Grapple doubled over. His intakes worked madly. He was deluding himself if he thought this would take three hours to complete. For the first time, he thought there might be a chance he would not live to see his masterpiece built. But he had to finish it; no Autobot had the skill and the love for the art that he had. Grapple simply did not feel he could entrust the job to anyone else.

Grapple felt a soothing hand fall upon his shoulder. As he turned, he said, "First Aid, I wish to left--."

He stopped as his gaze fell upon Scrapper. Grapple shook the Decepticon's hand from his shoulder.

"What are you doing here?" Grapple demanded.

"I was in the neighborhood admiring the scenery." Scrapper waved his hand towards the monument. "I've been watching it slowly come together. The more I see, the more I'm impressed." He paused, slowly taking in the whole structure. "A work of art. The painstaking care you've taken with each minute detail is something you can't teach.

Scrapper looked back at Grapple's questioning face. "I heard what happened to you. That's one reason I'd come out here. To watch you. I don't mean to sound grim, but I figured this would be your last project. Knowing you, you'd throw everything into it."

"So really you're here to spy," Grapple countered, not feeling as suspicious as he thought he should.

Scrapper waved his hand. "That's what I tell the others. In reality, I come to watch a master architect at work. I can't really say that." Scrapper’s optics reflected a hidden smile. "I don't think either side would be too thrilled if they even perceived that we worked together; we know what happened last time."

Grapple nodded thoughtfully.

Scrapper continued. "But this isn't about the war. This is about something bigger. The love for a dying art." Scrapper gazed at the monument again. "Sometimes I can't help but feel that the kind of passion for something that isn't war is no longer part of our species' programming."

Scrapper turned his attention back to Grapple, a serious look frozen on his faceplate. "You have no reason to accept what I am about to offer, but I would like the honor of helping you finish this monument."

Grapple was unable to hide his surprise. The distrust he should have felt at the suggestion never formed. For the first time, Grapple was seriously considering the offer of help. After all, this wasn't just any architect. Scrapper was the only being, except perhaps Hoist, that showed the same awe for the art as Grapple himself. This was plain from simply glancing at anything he had built.

Grapple smiled. “You have yourself a deal."

For the next two hours, Scrapper worked, quickly and carefully, under the direction of Grapple. Grapple helped with the labor as well, inspired by seeing the monument finally coming together. Time flew by as he lost himself in the work. The distrust present from earlier encounters with the Constructicons never surfaced.

Before long, the work wore on him. He offered Scrapper an apology and retreated to the shade of a massive tree. The oak groaned as he leaned his weight against it. He had no feeling in his new leg. The pulley on his arm no longer functioned. He felt light-headed. But more than anything else, he was having fun. He could not remember the last time he felt that way.

As he finished soldering the last segment of the roof in place, Scrapper thought about the dozen or so changes he might have suggested to Grapple to improve the monument. He always remained quiet though. This was Grapple's project. Scrapper didn't doubt that Grapple would pay him the same compliment if their situations were reversed.

Scrapper leapt off of the roof, using his flight capabilities to cushion his fall. He landed beside Grapple.

"There," Scrapper said, motioning to the finished monument. "What do you think?"

Grapple smiled. His chin fell to his chest. He felt the darkness coming, but he was now ready to embrace it.

"A masterpiece.” His voice was little more than a whisper. “Thank you, Scrapper.”

Scrapper looked down at the Autobot. His optics were black as night. He closed his optics.

“No, Grapple. Thank you.”

Solemnly, he stooped and picked up the Autobot. He slowly walked into the monument and placed Grapple beside the plaque that bore Hoist's likeness. Scrapper studied the wall covered with plaques and inscriptions. Most of it was a lot of tripe about heroics in battle and friendship. Scrapper looked back down at the deceased Autobot.

"I'm sorry. But there is one improvement I have to make."

* * *

First Aid rose to his feet and motioned the other medical officers to stop. Grapple was gone.

First Aid gazed around the finished structure with amazement. Grapple had done it. He had finished his most-prized project. In the state his body in, it must have taken a terrible toll. Still, First Aid found it hard not to be a little pleased. Grapple never would have wanted to die lying in bed, especially with unfinished business waiting so near him.

As he turned to walk out, a plaque caught his attention. He studied it for several seconds in confusion. He would have to ask one of the other architects about this; Grapple never would have done this himself. First Aid doubted he would have even allowed it.

The plaque read:

Grapple

A great architect and a greater adversary.
Countless times I would find myself striving
to match the vision he lends to each project
he undertakes. And after today, I am honored
to think that maybe he felt the same towards me.
--Anonymous


The End.

(January 1999)

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