SKIRMISHER

Transformers don’t care about people, period. That’s what I learned growing up in the 1980s, religiously watching a race of robot Titans from outer space wage a secret war on Earth. Transformers didn’t even want to be seen by humans. They casually blended into our neighborhoods by turning themselves into all kinds of cutting-edge machinery — you know, like cassette players. I sat in front of the TV, my Kool-Aid-stained mouth agape, as these armored, primary-colored toys engaged in interstellar combat with only a passing interest in us. Like a mechanical pantheon of Greek gods, the Autobots and Decepticons were smarter, older, and vastly more powerful than human beings. They tromped through our world but were thoroughly wrapped up in their own concerns, usually involving their home planet, Cybertron.

…

So when I started building robots myself, it was only natural that the independence of Prime and his crew stuck with me. Remember that before Transformers, sci-fi robots in the US were either scary (HAL 9000) or infantilized (every robot in Star Wars). We giggled at the antics of C-3PO and Artoo, but they lacked any real autonomous authority. Megatron as a giant handgun—now that guy had bucketloads of authority. With their blatant disregard for people, Transformers burned into my psyche the idea that robots didn’t have to depend on—or be limited in the same ways as—humans.

But now at least they serve booze.

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