"Redemption"  Part 2
by Ivy Bohnlein



     "Our sensors picked up a ship doing a flyby through our airspace
today, Rodimus," the tiny scout Outrun reported. "No attempts to contact
us.  Initial scans indicate that it's a Prowler-class scout ship.  No
clear data on what they were looking for, but they left our airspace a
while ago."
     Rodimus nodded his head grimly, the brightness of his blue optics
dimming.  "Us," he answered simply.  "They were looking for us, and they
left because found what they were searching for."
     "This is the last outpost we have, Rodimus," a voice boomed from
behind.  Rodimus knew the voice of his XO so well that he hardly even
needed to turn to acknowledge it.  Still, he glanced behind in time to see
Springer say, "We can't run away anymore."
     Rodimus nodded wearily.  "I'm far too aware of that, Springer." He
spread his grey hands, revealing the scratched yellow paint of his
trademark flames.  "I had hoped that they wouldn't find us so soon."
     "Well, they did," Springer said, idly tapping the long barrel of his
electropulse cannon against his powerful leg.
     "This is where we're going to die, isn't it?" Outrun asked, a quaver
of fear entering her voice no matter how she'd tried to hide it.
     Rodimus' gaze returned to rest on her kindly.  "We still have more
time."  He took in her small, round face and felt a surge of pity. Outrun
had been created less than three million years ago, in a desperate attempt
to compensate for continuous losses, and had been thrust immediately into
a battle for  her life. She'd never known even a temporary peace.  And
now... He cut the thought short.
     "You still think da mad scientists are gonna come up wit' something?"
Scattershot's hoarse voice demanded.  Rodimus spun in surprise to look at
the doors to the tiny command center.  "It's over... we just gotta take as
many of 'em out wit' us as we can." Scattershot's optics blazed out of a
darkness he seemed to carry with him like an extra appendage.  His
teammates had been killed long ago by the Primitives, but Scattershot had
somehow survived.  Scattershot lived through anything, by sheer perverse
stubbornness.  His hatred kept him animated, but he rarely left his
quarters except to fight.  Or to scream out the name of his enemies to the
unfeeling stars until he lost his ability to process speech.
     "The machine could still work.  It's just a question of giving them
enough time to get it running," Rodimus explained patiently, even though
both he and Scattershot knew they'd had this discussion before.
     Scattershot said sourly, "I still think it sounds like cuttin' and
runnin'."  He stepped heavily away from the door and into the room.
     "We're not trying to escape.  We're going to change the past in order
to save our future.  If we can stop Sky Lynx from going berserk, we won't
have to spend our lives in this hell,"  Rodimus told him.
     "Technically," an emerald green Femme said flatly, walking through
the doorway, "that's not quite correct.  Changing the past could have
effects reaching into our own time, or it could prompt a divergence in the
time stream that will create an alternate future.  The flow of time could
demand that we return to this world anyway, even if we succeed in changing
the past."
     Scattershot growled deep in his throat.  "Didn't ask for a lecture,
Whiz."
     "I thought it best to clarify the principle now that the time portal
generator is functional," she replied with a brief shrug of her shoulders.
     "You've got it working?" Rodimus asked, suddenly feeling a surge of
hope.  As long as he didn't focus too much on Whiz's warning, that is...
     She nodded curtly.  "That's what I said."
     Springer stepped closer to Rodimus and muttered under his breath,
"You sure you want to trust creepy Whiz and her mad scientist squad?"
     Whiz's sharp optics narrowed even further.  "My hearing is better
than most," she said coldly, displaying the angular silver diamond and
spiked antenna of her audio receptor.  "The Cybertronian Sci-Med division
is not a group of mad scientists.  We're working on this project out of
necessity."
     Rodimus looked wearily at the Sci-Med commander.  Her whole exterior
was as hard as her voice, and her bearing was straight and cold.  He
thought he remembered a time when that was different.  "And don't call her
creepy, either, Springer."  Though it was hard to deny it.
     Springer made a non-committal noise.
     "It would be a shame if you were killed in the past, Springer," Whiz
said icily.
     Rodimus took a moment to process the comment.  "Nobody is going to
change anything in the past except what's essential."
     Whiz's expression didn't even flicker.  "Of course.  Do you want to
inspect the equipment?"
     Rodimus nodded.  "I'll go.  Springer, take over here.  Scatter..."
his voice trailed off as he recognized that Scattershot had already
disappeared.  "Never mind then.  Springer, tell Cyclonus to join us in the
experiment lab."
     "On it," he replied, lumbering over to the console.
     Rodimus turned to follow Whiz out of the door.  Her optics pierced
him briefly; then she spun on her heel and walked down the corridor.
     Eight million years in the past.  Before the Primitives rebelled,
causing the rest of this nightmare.  Before Whiz lost her ability to
smile, before the Matrix had been ripped from his chest with all of the
pain and violation of having his heart torn out.  Before...
     "Imagine, Whiz, how different it'll be.  Everyone will still be
alive," he said, trying to reach some reserves of emotion.
     "You mean Arcee," she replied distantly.  "Arcee will still be
alive."
     His optics narrowed slightly, staring at the back of her helmet.
"Yes, her.  But not just her, either.  I can't believe you're not
excited."
     "Excitement requires hope," she said, stopping and turning to regard
him.  "And besides, the past isn't perfect.  There's still a war between
the Autobots and Decepticons.  We'll still be in danger, and our friends
will be our enemies."
     "We can't be in more danger than we're in now," he said, trying to
think back that far.  The days of Autobots and Decepticons, not
Cybertronians and Primitives.  Even the old names sounded odd now.
     "We hope." She turned, expressionless as always, and continued down
the corridor toward the research lab.
     Cyclonus was waiting for them in the laboratory, along with the
Junkion Pak-Gor, the Quintesson Certiorarius, and Hook, one of the
remaining three Constructicons.
     It's a good thing Omega Supreme isn't here to see this, Rodimus
thought, a bit surprised at how much he could remember once he started
thinking about the past.  He would never have accepted the help of the
Constructicons.  Rodimus shook his head regretfully as he remembered Omega
Supreme sacrificing himself to ensure their safe escape from Cybertron.
The fireball had even been visible from space.
     "Pak-Gor tells me that the device is ready," Cyclonus said, looking
up as Rodimus entered the room.
     "I cannot tell a lie," Pak-Gor quoted, excitement evident in his
patchwork frame.  "It slices, it dices, it makes julienne fries out of the
space-time continuum.  Satisfaction guaranteed, or your history back."
     "But we've been spotted by the Primitives," Rodimus said, regretting
it as the scientists' smiles faded.
     The Quintesson shifted from his Scientist face to his Death's Head
face.  "An attack cannot be far behind."
     Rodimus nodded to Certiorarius.  "We don't have much time left. This
time, they're coming to wipe us out."
     "We must push up our schedule.  The time travelers must be sent
through the portal immediately," Cyclonus intoned.
     The rotating set of tools that formed Hook's hand whirred briefly.
"The portal is untested on sentient beings."
     "It worked on the drone.  We have to trust those results, there's no
time for more experiments," Whiz said, her tone inviting no argument. "We
have to focus on installing the proximity buffers."
     Cyclonus turned to regard her with shrewd red eyes.  "Proximity
buffers?"
     Whiz picked up a silver ring from the table.  "Being too close to
your own self in space and time invites paradox.  To cope, your body will
shut down in defense.  We can't have that happen, or our mission will be
useless.  Once these dampeners are installed, you'll be able to function,
though your past self won't be so lucky.  Extreme physical proximity to
your past self is still not recommended."
     "What if something happens to the buffer?" Rodimus asked.
     Pak-Gor adopted an Edward G. Robinson voice.  "The Big Sleep, see?"
     "Your systems will shut down.  That's why we're installing them
internally, where they'll be protected," Whiz explained patiently.  "We
also can't take the chance that anyone from the past will see or study our
technology.  It could affect their future dramatically."
     "So let's get started.  Cyclonus, gather together the troops to be
outfitted.  We may not have much time," Rodimus said decisively,
unconsciously gathering himself up to his full height.  "Since I'm here,
you can start with me."
     "You're following this trail too, kemosabe?" Pak-Gor asked.
     Rodimus nodded tightly.  "I failed them all once.  I'm not going to
let that happen again."
     "Spare us the dramatic speech."  Whiz handed one of the silver rings
to Pak-Gor.  "You install this.  Hook, you and I will construct as many
more as we can.  Certiorarius, run some checks on the portal  generator
and make sure its energy reserves are sufficient."
     The Quintesson spun and landed on his Scientist face.  "Yes Whiz."
     She nodded curtly and headed over to  a bank of computers with Hook,
muttering something to him about the state of their supplies.  Pak-Gor
headed over to Rodimus with a slight grin.  "Receive ten hours free when
you upgrade to new Time Travel Online, download now!"  he said as he
retrieved his tools from a small compartment at his waist.
     Rodimus laid down on the lab table and allowed Pak to open his chest
and tinker inside.  There was a space there that had never gone away -- a
space that the Matrix is supposed to fill, he thought.  And an extra space
for Arcee, and one for Kup, and all of the other losses...
     The Junkion worked away busily.  "Time to spin the Wheel of Jeopardy.
Our contestant today is Rodimus - and the category: a penny for your
thoughts."
     "Just thinking about the past, and how much we've all changed,"
Rodimus sighed, staring idly at the ceiling.
     "Next time on Ripley's Believe It or Not: what the Cybertronians used
to be.  Including an in depth look at the mysterious Book of the Dead,"
Pak-Gor said morosely.
     Rodimus looked over to where Whiz was at work and added, "In body and
in spirit."
     Pak-Gor noticed the gaze and matched it for a moment, then shook his
head slightly with an expression of regret.  "Once upon a time, in a
galaxy far, far away, slinky was fun for a girl and a boy.  Lucy, Lucy,
Lucy, what have you done now?" He smiled slightly in reminiscence, but it
faded.  "Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes.  The problems of three people don't amount
to a hill of beans in this crazy world."
     Rodimus nodded thoughtfully as Pak-Gor returned his gaze to his work.
"Not much does, anymore."
     With a quick pass of a scanner, the Junkion closed the armor of
Rodimus' chest.  "New and improved, gets whites whiter and brights
brighter, in any time or place."
     "Thank you, Pak."  As Rodimus got up, he noticed more of his troops
filing in to get the buffers installed.  "You have plenty of work to do.
I'll help Cyclonus round everyone up."
     "Reading you loud and clear!" The scientist scampered off to help the
next person.  Sparing himself a quick jolt of hope, Rodimus got to his
feet and headed out the door to spread the word.  Time was their weapon,
but at that moment, it was also an enemy that was closing in fast.
     As fast as the Primitives.
     Alarms blared throughout the tiny base, and Rodimus quickly patched
the comlink on his wrist into the main computer.  "What's happening out
there?" he demanded.
     "Primmie warships settling into orbit and adopting an attack
formation," Firestar's voice crackled back.  "We've got two Prowler-class
scouts, four Stalker transports, and three fully-outfitted Devourer-class
battleships."
     "Everything," Rodimus breathed.  Then he snapped his comlink back to
transmission mode.  "Have you been outfitted with a buffer yet?"
     "Yessir.  Everyone here has been - the other crew just left to get
theirs," Firestar reported.
     "Right.  Put all defenses on full-automatic and get to the lab. We've
got to open that portal," Rodimus commanded.
     Firestar gasped in protest.  "But Rodimus..."
     He shook his head.  "No time to argue with you.  That portal is the
only chance for any of us, and all outfitted personnel are going.  You
hear me?"
     "Understand.  Command out."  The connection was severed.
     Rodimus turned his steps toward the lab and began to run.
     When he entered the now-crowded lab, he was immediately struck by the
high tension in the air.  Whiz spotted him and pulled him aside
immediately, her expression grim.  "We've done what we could, but we
didn't have the materials to make enough buffers.  There's only three
left, and..." She gestured to the group of Cybertronians waiting
anxiously.  There were at least fifty of them.
     Rodimus nodded, cursing inwardly at the decision he'd have to make.
He could save three, and condemn the rest to death.  "Cybertronians," he
announced, the timbre of his voice resonating in the small room.
Conversation hushed as all optics turned to him, and over the low hum of
the machines, the faint sound of explosions was audible.
     "In this room, at this moment, some of us will have to part ways. The
road of time can't be walked by all of us.  We simply don't have the
resources anymore.  But know that those of us who are departing are not
leaving you behind.  We go to the past to change our own present. When we
succeed, we'll create a better world for everyone --  the travelers, and
those who stay behind to protect us from harm.  And your names will be the
names of heroes.
     "Three more of you will journey with us to the past -- and the rest
will remain to face the Primitives.  I wish there was some other way." He
lowered his head.  "Do I have any who will volunteer to remain?"
     "I'm stayin'," Scattershot rasped immediately.  "I just want ta take
as many of 'em as I can with me into Hell."
     "Me too," agreed Dirge, straightening his battered blue frame
proudly.  A murmur of assent swelled through the ranks, until all of those
remaining had volunteered to stay and fight.  Fierce pride glowed in
long-shadowed optics, alongside the determination to die as free beings.
     "Cybertron would be proud of each of you today," Rodimus told them,
his optics touching each of the briefly and meeting their upraised gazes.
Then he turned to Whiz and dropped his voice to a whisper. "You and your
team are already outfitted?"
     She nodded.  "Except for Hook.  He has plans for anyone trying to
enter his lab."
     "All right.  Then install the remaining rings in Cyclonus, Springer,
and Outrun.  And get that machine ready," he murmured.
     She turned and walked back to her station, tapping the chosen
Cybertronians on their arms lightly as she passed them.  They followed
her, aware that a decision had been reached.
     "The rest of you, take up your battle stations.  We will never forget
what you've done today," Rodimus said, his voice catching in his throat.
Each and every one of them, dying for a different future. Dying to protect
an untested experiment.  Dying for him.  "Hold off the enemy as long as
you can.  Scattershot, Dirge, direct the defense. Send them to the
inferno."
     "Till all are one," Whiz suddenly said softly.
     The ritual phrase hung in the air for a long moment.  "Till all are
one," Rodimus echoed.
     All of the Cybertronians, travelers and defenders, chorused with a
single voice, "Till all are one."  And with a roar of defiance, they
poured out of the lab to engage the invaders.  The battle had begun.  
     As her team struggled to install the last of the buffer rings, Whiz
was at work on the portal generator, adjusting the settings and activating
its relays.  About a dozen more Cybertronians stood clustered behind her,
waiting with haunted eyes for the portal to open.
     "Energization is complete.  Portal is growing exponentially, and all
indications are normal," Whiz called.  A shimmering of silver in the air
behind her resolved itself into a flat rectangle, like a suspended mirror,
then grew rapidly until it obscured most of the wall. "Destination is
fixed.  Cybertron, six months prior to the Great Uprising.  Portal is open
and stable."
     "Go!" Rodimus shouted, and the travelers began to run into the
portal.  As the last of them started to disappear, there was a scream in
the corridor and the muffled sound of an explosion at the door. 
     "Get going!" Hook shouted, surrounding himself with lethal-looking
chemical mixtures.  "I'll destroy it behind you!"
     The door crashed inward and Sky Lynx's huge white head thrust inside,
his optic band riveting on Rodimus.  The Leader of the Primes was only
peripherally aware of anything else in the room.  His long-awaited target
was standing before him.
     Rodimus froze in place just beside the portal, his attention fixed
suddenly on Sky Lynx.  He has it with him, somewhere, Rodimus suddenly
*knew*.  The Matrix.
     A hand closed over his unresisting arm.  "Come on! Do you want to
die?" Whiz demanded harshly, then dragged him backward.
     Rodimus' feet stumbled only slightly as a peculiar sensation of being
pulled through water crashed over him, and his view of the lab was
suddenly coated by a silver film.
     "Rodimus!" Sky Lynx howled from the suddenly two-dimensional looking
lab.  The giant gryphon forced his wide shoulders further into the
laboratory, shouting in rage, "Come back here!  I will not be denied your
death!"
     The frame around the laboratory was shrinking, but Rodimus' attention
was riveted on the scene.  He watched as Hook picked up one of his flasks
and held it high above his head.  "Death has come for you, Primitive!"
     His fingers opened.
     In the distorted window, the falling flask shattered, and Rodimus
reflexively put up his arms to shield his face from the ensuing flash of
light and burst of sound as the entire laboratory beyond was engulfed by
explosive flames.
     The portal winked shut and Rodimus turned, stunned, to look behind
him.  The eyes of the other Cybertronians were all recovering from the
same shock, only to be startled again by the landscape surrounding them.
A natural energon spring burbled from the ground beside them, and silvery
roads stretched off into the distance, linking this isolated area to the
great cities visible on the horizon.
     "Cybertron," Outrun gasped in wonder.
     Rodimus nodded to her, finding his voice.  "Before the revolution."
     "We've achieved the selected space-time coordinates.  We're now in
neutral territory on Cybertron, during the final phase of the Cybertronian
Civil Wars.  Our selves should have already been knocked unconscious by
our arrival, but it appears that our buffers are operating as expected,"
Whiz reported.
     "Remember," Cyclonus said gravely, "Many of our comrades are alive
again, but their prejudices are alive as well.  The old affiliations still
mean something, so be aware of yours."
     "But... I don't have one," said Outrun, looking between the faces of
Rodimus and Cyclonus.
     "I don't either," Flamediver said, taking a step forward to stand
behind the little scout that he called sister.  The term came only from
their simultaneous creation, and not from any physical resemblance.  Where
Outrun was tiny and pale blue, Flamediver was twice her height and black,
and the wings of his aerodynamic recon-jet form stuck out behind his back
like a red cape.
     "You should come with the Decepticons, Flamediver.  Your jet form
will fit in better," Ramjet offered.
     "And Outrun best matches an Autobot profile," Firestar nodded.
"She'll do fine with us."
     Whiz suddenly put a hand to one of her audio relays.  "I'm picking up
some confusion over the airwaves from both sides.  Sounds like our
counterparts went unconscious in the middle of a battle."
     "Confirmed," Soundwave intoned.  He had never spoken much, but since
the defection of most of his tapes, and the murder of Rumble and Frenzy,
he had retreated even further.  He just scanned the broadcast waves and
seemed to be waiting for something that only he would recognize.
     "If they're all together, this could be the best time to inform them
of our arrival," said Certiorarius' diplomatic face.  Then he spun to
reveal his mask of judgment. "However, we lack evidence to prove our
story."
     "Don't forget who's in charge," Ramjet said with a hint of a groan in
his voice.
     Outrun piped up eagerly, "Galvatron the Mad!"
     Cyclonus swiveled his head slowly to fix her in his gaze.  "He was
not mad.  He merely trusted too blindly in his own power.  To say
otherwise is to deny him his due respect."
     After millions of years, Cyclonus stayed loyal.  Rodimus deferred to
the feelings of his second in command and said, "Yes, Outrun.  And
besides, we're going to have to work with him to achieve our goals, so
don't antagonize him by calling him mad."
     Outrun looked abashed.  "Sorry."
     "It's all right, Outrun," Whiz said, without looking up from her
readings.  "Once you meet him, you'll know the truth for yourself."
     Cyclonus looked at Whiz suspiciously as Firestar and Ramjet both
stifled smiles.
     "We can't get bogged down fighting with each other," Rodimus said
firmly.  "Cyclonus, once we reach them, you'd better do the talking to
Galvatron.  He won't trust me, and you know him best."
     "Understood.  I may be required to bend the truth," Cyclonus said,
his voice rising with an unspoken question.
     "Whatever you feel is best.  We just need his cooperation," Rodimus
agreed.
     "They're on the plains east of New Vilnacron," Whiz reported, raising
her head.  "And both sides are calling in reinforcements."
     "Come on down!  Stop the violence!" Pak-Gor said enthusiastically.
     Cyclonus frowned.  "Walking into the center of a battle may not be
wise.  They have no reason to believe us, as Certiorarius observed."
     "Yeah, but if they all kill each other because of the chaos our
arrival caused, our mission isn't going to end up as a roaring success,"
Springer growled.
     "I don't think we should delay any longer.  We have to present a
united front," Rodimus observed.  "Cybertronians, transform and prepare to
head out.  Certiorarius, you're with me."  He dropped and compacted into a
sleek red sportscar, his yellow flames curling across his hood.
     As Rodimus popped open a door, Certiorarius turned his martial face
to regard his leader.  "Yes sir," he answered, climbing into the driver's
seat.
     The assembled Cybertronians also shifted into their alternate forms,
and the aerial members of the team assumed a defensive formation above
their land-based comrades.  As usual, Soundwave took his place in
Cyclonus' cockpit, monitoring the communications of the planet.
     Rodimus drove to a position at the edge of the small clearing and
stopped, broadcasting a final message to his followers.  "When we reach
Vilnacron, we'll be stepping into an unknown.  No matter what happens -
if we're separated, suspected, or even imprisoned - remember our mission.
We're here to stop the rebellion, and that purpose should be foremost in
our minds.  Just remember that the Primmies aren't our enemies yet.  The
best way to deal with them is to watch them, not engage them.  Try to see
what is going wrong.  Keep in contact as well as possible, and above all,
be careful.  This is a different world than the one we left, but it's
still dangerous.  Now, let's get to Vilnacron."  As Rodimus turned to head
down the road, he was only peripherally aware of the others behind and
above him.  Instead, his mind whirled with expectations and curiosity.
     At Vilnacron, the two armies were facing off on either side of a
large plain, hurling accusations at each other about what had just
occurred.
     "I demand to know what you have done to Cyclonus!" Galvatron howled,
stabbing his finger through the air at Ultra Magnus, "Or I will pulverize
you *and* your army personally!"
     Ultra Magnus' glare was more potent than laser bolts.  "And I tell
you again, we did nothing!  Now why did Firestar and Springer collapse?"
     Rodimus' attention was arrested by the red and blue bulk of Ultra
Magnus standing in the center of the Autobots, radiating command and
competence.  To see his old mentor there, alive...
     "Ultra Magnus, look!" Perceptor called, pointing to the road and
dropping into his microscope form to magnify what he had spotted.  "The
reinforcements are..." his voice trailed off in confusion.
     "Why would they be coming from that direction?" Ultra Magnus asked,
shielding his optics to get a better look.
     Galvatron had received similar notification from the Decepticons and
was staring off in the same direction.  He recognized  the aerial forms
first  and gasped.  "What is the meaning of this?  Cyclonus?" He shifted
his eyes to the ground.  "With *Autobots*?"
     Ultra Magnus had managed to discern some of the details of the
approaching party.  "Rodimus? Whiz?  I thought you were going to stay for
negotiations with Secretary-General Bryant...."  As the Cybertronians
became more clearly visible, however, he trailed off.
     "Don't exactly appear t'be Rodimus," Scattershot informed Ultra
Magnus.
     "That doesn't exactly look like Whiz, either," Chromia concurred.
"Something's very strange here."
     Just then, Ultra Magnus tilted his head slightly as he received a
radio transmission.  His eyes snapped back to the approaching
Cybertronians immediately, widening in surprise.
     Moments later, Rodimus received a communication of his own from
Soundwave.  "Ultra Magnus has just received a transmission from Bryant.
Your past self, along with Whiz's, has just dropped unconscious in Iacon."
There was a pause.  When the transmission resumed, Soundwave's voice was
modulated in a slightly higher register, making him seem almost amused.
"Bryant reports that they were engaged in a 'pouncing fight'."
     Certiorarius' faces swiveled in confusion.  "A what?" he asked in
disbelief.
     "I'm sure it's a long story," Rodimus said, a bit unsteadily.  Then,
to Soundwave, he radioed, "Thank you.  Now we know what to expect."
     Cyclonus swooped down into the empty air between the armies, warning,
"Do not fire!  We can explain what has happened here!"
     Ultra Magnus stared and grumbled, "Somebody had better."
     Rodimus drove up confidently, leading the way for his small group of
followers.  As he came to a halt and transformed, he could hear whispered
comments all around him as the others tried to determine what was going
on.  More than once, he heard a brief mention of 'Hot Rod' and couldn't
help but smile bitterly.  It had been a long time since he'd heard that
name.  As he surveyed the crowd, Cyclonus transformed and landed lightly
at his side.  Springer took up a position on the other side, and Whiz
waited slightly behind the three of them.
     Chromia's optics narrowed.  "What have you two been up to now?" she
demanded, looking severely at Rodimus and Whiz.
     Galvatron snarled impatiently.  "Silence, Autobot!  Cyclonus, I want
an explanation for all of this!"
     Cyclonus nodded grimly.  "And you shall have it.  We are not the
Cybertronians you know.  Instead, we hail from another time - eight
million years in your future.  And we have come as representatives, to
correct a mistake that will eventually lead to the destruction of our
entire race.  You yourself sent me to aid Rodimus in his quest."
     Galvatron's eyes sparked with rage.  "Lies!  I would never cooperate
with Rodimus Prime!"
     Rodimus winced hard, feeling his chest cave in as if he'd received a
body-blow.  Rodimus *Prime*.  In this time, he'd felt its presence at
every moment.  The Matrix was still an integral part of his life and his
very identity.  He was forcefully reminded of the feelings that had
assailed him as Sky Lynx had entered the lab.  The *knowing* was
undeniable.  The Matrix had been there, within his grasp for the first
time in millions of years.
     And in this world...  The thought flitted through his mind and was
gone.  This Matrix wasn't his to claim.  He had to save it, first, and in
the process save himself from an eternity of loss and pain.  How else
could he be worthy of it again?
     "...no choices," Cyclonus was saying.  "This cataclysm brought all
Cybertronians together, and even the Quintessons sought our aid."  He
gestured toward Certiorarius, who did his best to look inconspicuous.
     "You are a deceiver, or your mind has been manipulated!  Either way,
your words must be lies!" Galvatron shouted.  He raised the fusion cannon
on his arm and glared at Cyclonus.  "We shall see when we get you to
Darkmount!"
     "I am willing to cooperate," Cyclonus said levelly, but his optics
flickered to Rodimus for reassurance.
     Rodimus inclined his head slightly to Cyclonus, then turned to the
Autobots. "I, too, am willing to answer your questions."
     "Yeah then," Trailbreaker asked with a lazy smirk, "How long did it
take you two to plan this out?  And are these holograms or drones?  Good
job either way, Whiz."
     Ultra Magnus looked confused, then relieved.  "I should have known.
You don't change, do you Whiz?"
     Whiz raised her head to directly meet the gazes of Trailbreaker and
Ultra Magnus in turn.  "I'm not that Whiz anymore," she answered in a
cold, emotionless voice.
     Chromia took a half-step backward in surprise as Trailbreaker and
Ultra Magnus stared at Whiz without a trace of comprehension.
     "What do they mean?" Outrun whispered up to Rodimus.  "Are they
saying she's *joking*?  I've never even seen her *smile*."
     Rodimus nodded, looking away from the others to mutter back to
Outrun, "Whiz has changed a lot more than you could realize."
     Outrun regarded Whiz for a moment, mystified, then shrugged.  Rodimus
saw half of his small group heading toward Galvatron, and a heavy weight
fell onto his shoulders.  He hated the necessity of splitting up, but
there was no better way to rally the other Cybertronians to their cause
with the speed they needed.  He just had to trust that Cyclonus knew what
he was doing.
     Ultra Magnus had noticed the departing Decepticons as well.  He swept
his optics over Rodimus and his ragged troops, noticing the diverse
elements of their team.  "Perhaps your explaining could be done best back
in Iacon," Magnus suggested.
     Iacon.  Home.
     "Sounds reasonable," Rodimus agreed.  He looked at his troops, trying
to see them as the other Autobots did.  First there was Springer, looking
a little more war-torn than before.  Gunmetal grey had replaced chrome,
and a targeting sight was permanently attached to one eye.  And Whiz, of
course -- though her changes were mostly internal, there were some
external signs as well.  She had added more armor over time, filling out
her body into a more angular shape, and the gentle curves of her face had
hardened into sharp lines.  Firestar had been refitted to be more
combat-oriented, once the need for search and rescue had faded, and she
now carried a plasma flamethrower and a long shockprod with the grim ease
of a veteran.  Most of them would know Pak-Gor as well, though they may
not have recognized him yet. Continuous rearrangement and replacement of
his parts had left the Junkion nearly completely remodeled within each
cycle of a thousand years or so.  Rodimus wasn't even sure that was his
original face.
     That left Certiorarius and Outrun as unknowns.  It meant that they'd
be under suspicion -- especially the Quintesson.  It would be hard for the
others to view him as an ally.  But Rodimus was confident that Outrun
would win them all over in record time.  He looked over and smiled at the
short, eager little femme.  But for all her studies, Outrun had a lot to
learn about this time that only experience could teach. Things that even
*he* had forgotten.
     Finally, Rodimus turned his critical eye on himself.  There was no
mistaking him, even after all of this time.  His brash, bright red frame
had sobered into a darker shade, but he still maintained his golden flames
as a personal symbol.  The lines of experience and loss had gradually
etched themselves onto his face, giving him an aura of command despite the
loss of the Matrix.  Time is a harsher teacher, he thought, but in the
end, its lessons endure.
     "All right, Autobots," Ultra Magnus said, looking around to be sure
everyone was still there, "Let's head back to base.  Chromia, you load
Firestar on my trailer.  Scattershot, you get Springer."
     Rodimus took a look at his XO as the other Autobots loaded the green
body onto Magnus' car-carrier.  Springer looked back and grinned ruefully.
"Kinda weird."
     Firestar approached from behind and nodded.  "More than kinda.
Things just seem so... different.  Being here, watching her -- I mean, me
-- oh, whatever."
     "Any side effects from the proximity to them?" Whiz asked briskly.
     "Nothing much.  A little bit of a tingly feeling, I guess," Firestar
replied.
     Springer agreed, "Same here.  Not too bad."
     "It's just so exciting to be here.  And to not have to worry about
the Primmies!" Outrun added cheerfully.
     "Imagine all the people," Pak Gor sang, "Living life in
peeeeeace...."
     Certiorarius shifted to his Death's Head.  "Pak-Gor, that singing is
a punishable offense."
     Outrun giggled, and Rodimus felt himself relax.  Being in the past
was good for them.  He hadn't seen his troops in such a good mood in a
long time.  So far, everything was going according to plan.
     Scattershot leaned against Ultra Magnus' trailer and looked back
suspiciously at the tight cluster of Cybertronians.  "You're letting dem
follow us back?"
     "We have to at least find out what's going on," Ultra Magnus replied.
"And letting them run around loose won't help anybody."
     "How's that for confidence?" Springer growled under his breath.
     "Shh," Rodimus warned.  "They have no reason to trust us.  All in
all, I'd say things are going well."
     Ultra Magnus started his engine.  "I assume you know the way.  We'll
sort this out back in Iacon."
     "And I'll be keepin' an optic on ya," Scattershot said with narrowed
eyes.
      Rodimus nodded.  "I would be too.  All right, Cybertronians, same
formation as before.  Let's move out."
     As Rodimus had expected, the journey back to Iacon was uneventful.
The Decepticons were probably too busy working out their own arrangements
to harass the small convoy.  Iacon appeared on the horizon soon enough,
and the sight was enough to make Rodimus gasp.  His city.  From his youth
spent in its defense to his ongoing efforts to restore it to its former
glory, he had linked its future to his own.  It had become home in the
most enduring sense of the word.
     His radio crackled to life.  "Is that... is that Iacon?" Outrun
gasped in wonder.
     Certiorarius chuckled.  "The old factory is looking better than
ever."
     Rodimus let Certiorarius know what he thought of that comment with a
rude noise.  Then he radioed back to Outrun, "Yes, that's it.  That's
home."
     "It's beautiful!" Outrun replied.
     Rodimus sighed.  It was.  Even moreso because he thought he'd lost it
forever --  Sky Lynx had demolished it to make way for his new capital of
Primeva.  The radio crackled to life again.
     "Ultra Magnus is calling out the troops to meet us when we reach
Iacon's gates.  Sounds like we'll have a welcoming committee," Whiz
reported.
     "Nothing unexpected," Rodimus told her.  "We'll be ready."
     There was a pause.  "Rodimus..." she began, her voice oddly strained.
     "What is it?" he asked with equal parts of curiosity and concern.
     "Arcee will be there."
     This time, it was his turn to pause and catch hold of his whirling
thoughts.  "Ah... understood."
     The strange tone in her voice had been replaced by her usual coldness
as she said, "I thought it might help if you were prepared. Whiz out."
     Being prepared didn't help as much as he'd hoped, as Rodimus found
when he came to a halt just beyond Iacon's main gates.  Just as he
transformed, he saw the form emerge from the base's doorway. 
     The ghost that had haunted his thoughts for eight million years.
     She had been the first casualty of the Great Uprising.  When Syke had
moved to join Sky Lynx, Arcee had disregarded Rodimus' orders to stay
back.  She'd leapt forward impulsively, pulling at Syke's arm and opening
her mouth to call the raptor her sister and her friend, and to try to
utter the words that would make her come back...
     Rodimus shook his head, trying to banish the memory, but when his
eyes focused on Arcee, the thoughts returned.  As they always had.
     He had tried to put an arm out to stop Arcee's motion, but she'd
moved too quickly.  He should have known she'd try it; he should have
reached out sooner; he should have done *something* before the metal claws
slashed across Arcee's waist and tore open her metal skin.  He should have
done more than roar in anger and shock as the claws slashed again, ripping
open the pink face as Arcee doubled over in the pain of the first blow.
He should have leapt in front of the crazed raptor instead of firing and
missing; he should have taken the blow that snapped Arcee's neck; he
should have prevented the senseless horror that took her from him
forever...
     A hand touched his upper arm gently and he flinched, whirling to face
the new threat.  He breathed out deeply as he realized that it was only
Whiz.  Her eyes were narrowed in concern, but not enough to hide a strange
expression of pain.  "Are you going to be okay?"
     He nodded to her.  "It's passing."
     "This won't be easy," she told him, then removed her hand.
     Arcee was studying him curiously, confusion crinkling the corners of
her optics.  Then her eyes were scanning the rest of the crowd, but
Rodimus couldn't wrench his gaze away from her.
     "Me Grimlock want to see who calls himself second Rodimus!" a voice
roared from the hallway beyond the doors.  By reflex, Rodimus called his
gun to his hand and braced himself for a charge, aiming at the door.
Behind him, he heard the click of weaponry and the sound of the other
Cybertronians assuming defensive positions.
     He forced himself to lower his weapon and relax, but not before he'd
caught the attention of the Autobots.  "Stand down," he said, his voice
clipped with tension.  His troops were already uneasily rising back to
their feet and putting away their weapons as Grimlock entered the
courtyard.
     "We definitely have a great deal to discuss," Ultra Magnus said
thoughtfully.
     "More than you know," Rodimus muttered to himself.  


[cont.]


 
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