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Blackarachnia’s glee as she sped up the stolen ship was as tangible as Optimus’ annoyance at the stunt.
“You could at least try not to cackle,” he said.
She cackled harder in response.
“What would be the fun in that?” She poked the spot right between his optics. “Stop being such a spoilsport.”
He would’ve swatted the finger away but, alas, Optimus’ hands had stayed behind with the rest of his body back in his quarters. Thus, he contented himself with showing her a scowl.
“Aw, come on,” Blackarachnia continued. “I’ll leave you in the first cozy asteroid we find after I’m done with you and I’ll even toss in a tracker to compensate for the inconvenience.”
“Or you could just bring me back. We’ll chalk it up to a misunderstanding.”
“Nope. That would defeat the whole purpose and you know it.”
The ship’s noisy alarms interrupted them and the screen showed them another Autobot ship in a pursuit that was gaining on them.
“How did they find out so soon?” she grumped. “And how do you turn off the alarm? Who the hell designed this thing?”
“Someone must’ve gone looking for me. The button is under the console. I have no idea who designed it, but I keep thinking that the old models didn’t need to be completely overhauled.”
“Ah, there it is. Thank you, Prime. Always so helpful.”
“Not a Prime anymore,” he muttered.
“Shut up, Optimus. I need to outmaneuver your underlings. This is so going to compensate for that extra zero, don’t you think?”
Optimus sighed and focused on not toppling over from the control console. His dignity had suffered enough already without his head rolling all around the ship’s floor. The worst part, though, was that he had done this to himself.
* * *
Optimus had been working late that day, just like he did most days. Every so often, Ratchet or Bulkhead—or both—got fed up with his bad habits and dragged him to recharge despite his protests even before he had the excuse of being Magnus. He hadn’t won the race by a landslide, like Bee and Sari—his campaign managers—had wanted, but still by a clear, irrefutable majority. Not that Sentinel’s tantrum would’ve been different if the balance had been tipped only by one vote, of course. Same with his constant opposition and criticism, unfounded or not, which was one of the main reasons Optimus had so much to do.
Tonight, the business at hand was important. Optimus would address the council in a few days and his arguments had to be irrefutable. It wouldn’t be easy to convince them first, to undo the several secrecy decrees surrounding certain dubious acts carried out during the war, and, second, to create a permanent ethics committee to oversee those matters. To nobody’s surprise, Sentinel Prime, backed by a group of scientists of dubious morals, was his most vocal opponent. Sentinel might have lost most of his credibility in the past few cycles, but he was loud. Loud people called attention. Cybertron had been ruled by fear for too long; it would be too easy to fall back into the old patterns if their audio receptors kept getting that fear-mongering rhetoric.
Then, as he agonized between marking something a significant pause or a dramatic pause, a spider fell on his desk.
“Do I bother asking how you got in?” he asked, too tired to be surprised. At some point, he had resigned himself to this being his life.
“Your passwords are so easy to guess, Prime.”
“Not a Prime and Sentinel has never been able to tell.”
“It shows how much attention that clown pays, doesn’t it? Also, I heard. Congratulations on your victory, Optimus. I’ll allow myself a rare candid moment and say that Cybertron will grow to be better under your rule.”
“Thank you, Blackarachnia,” he answered, unsure of whether believing her would be a good idea. Nevertheless, he gave her the benefit of the doubt. “So, what brings you here?”
“Oh, that.” She moved from the corner of the desk where she was sitting so she could stand next to Optimus. “Well, I’m here to make a formal complaint.”
She twisted her wrist and projected a wanted poster that featured her picture.
Optimus intertwined his fingers on his desk.
“Blackarachnia, I can’t make a concession and offer a pardon at this point—”
“It’s not that, you dork! Look at that figure! It’s so low! I’m worth much more than that!”
Okay. That was new.
“You want me to—?”
“Yes! Increase the bounty!”
“That’d make more people go after you.”
She smacked a fist on his chest.
“So what? You think I can’t take them? That’s insulting, Optimus.”
“Right…” He stared at the control panel in front of him. Making the change with his credentials would only take a moment. However… “We’d need to justify the increase.”
She grinned and dropped a handful of memory sticks on the desk.
“That’s fine. I have plenty of evidence of the most questionable things I’ve been working on these days.”
Optimus went ahead and logged in to the system without even touching the things.
“I’ll take your word for it.” A few keystrokes later, the amount offered for Blackarachnia tripled. “Good enough?”
She hummed, rubbing her chin.
“Add another zero.”
“That would put it almost to Megatron levels. A Decepticon war criminal and terrorist with such a long career—”
“You’re such a prude! Let me.”
With a movement of her hip, she pushed away Optimus’ chair. Then, she took his place in front of the keywords and got to work.
“There!” she said with a smile a few keystrokes later.
“Happy now?”
“Very. Just look at that adorable big number. How long until it’s active?”
“It already is. However, it may still be reversed as soon as the council logs in.”
“Why?”
“Nobody’s saying you’re not dangerous, but to be on Megatron’s level of priority—”
She folded her arms and pouted.
“Autobot bureaucracy is the worst.”
“I’m not sure that’s bureaucracy’s fault. Also, paperwork has its place in a civilized society.”
She waved her hand dismissing his concerns.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Without warning, the grin came back to her face. “Oh! I have an idea!”
“How much am I going to hate it?”
“Lots. But only because you’re a killjoy.”
* * *
Next thing he knew, he was… like this. Like a helpless head that tumbled around a hijacked ship dodging a quick succession of warning shots.
“Decepticon, surrender! Now!” came from the speakers.
“Not a Decepticon!” she mumbled while pressing buttons, pulling levers, and checking the systems. “I’m doing my own thing nowadays! I added that to the file!”
“Now you know how I feel,” Optimus said. He had found a crook between the back seats where to lodge himself in to stop rolling on the floor.
She pouted.
“Optimus…”
“Put me through the comms! We can negotiate!”
“Optimus! If you don’t shut up, your voice box is getting disconnected!”
Those were not empty threats. Thus, Optimus did shut up.
For about one minute.
“What’s the plan then? Are you going back to your base? Do you think Grimlock is gonna be happy to see me?”
“This is your last warning, Magnus ! We’re not going there, obviously. I’m not risking it.”
“So you do care. I knew you had it in you.”
“That’s where my lab is! Seriously, Optimus!”
“I was paying you a compliment!”
That made her turn her head a little.
“You were?” she asked in disbelief. Then, she snorted. “I’m sure you believe it and all.”
Optimus would’ve grunted and rolled his optics, but that moment of distraction caused one of their pursuers’ shots to graze the hull of their ship.
“Sentinel! Optimus is in there!” Jazz exclaimed over the comm.
“I thought they were going to dodge it! They’ve been doing it so far!” replied Sentinel.
“Oh, screw this. I’m not getting rescued by Sentinel Prime of all bots. Blackarachnia, this ship has a prototype portable space bridge. I’ll tell you how to activate it.”
She laughed.
“I think I like this new petty Optimus better. Go ahead; I’m listening.”
Optimus, then, explained the instructions. However, he was unable to shake off the weird tingling her words caused in his circuits.
Blackarachnia landed the ship on a dwarf planet Optimus had never heard of. A well-hidden hangar waited for them behind a rock formation.
“Here we are,” she said when she placed Optimus’ head over under her arm and they got off the ship.
Despite the disadvantageous position, Optimus was able to take a good look at the place. He found the walls branded with the Autobot insignia every few steps, and the proper infrastructure to support Cybertronian life seemed to be in decent condition, even if it was old. It would do as an emergency hideout. But for whom—and for what?
“Stop that, Optimus.”
“What? I literally can’t do anything.”
“You’re judging. It’s all over your face.”
“I’m not— You know what? There’s no point to this discussion.” With that, he closed his faceplate. “Here. Now you don’t have to see my face.”
She groaned.
“Smartass.”
He grinned, feeling smug. A shame she wouldn’t be able to see it behind the mask.
“Primus dammit. I had forgotten how expressive your optics are! Just do nothing. Think of nothing.”
“I’ve never been good at that.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Besides, I do have a few questions. Starting with: did you bring us to your lab in the end?”
Perhaps he should be on the lookout for Grimlock’s footsteps. Would his head be used as a chew toy or a football first?
Blackarachnia snorted.
“Of course not. This is just some abandoned hub I found. I’m still trying to decide whether I want to refurbish it or use it for spare parts.”
“I get you. It has a vintage charm, but technology has moved on. Even I can tell.”
“That’s exactly what I meant.” She held Optimus’ head so they could see each other in the eye. “Come on. Let me show you something cool!”
“Sure. Why not?”
Blackarachnia quickened her pace and, after some twists and turns, they soon arrived at a workshop as big as the hangar. This room contained row after row of work tables as far as Optimus could see. On each one of the tables lay suspicious shapes covered with some kind of cloth. Adding to the atmosphere, the beams on the ceiling were covered with spider web.
“So,” Optimus said to distract himself from whatever was under there, “are you planning to clean this place up or did you add the web?”
“Yes,” she replied, which helped nothing.
Blackarachnia put Optimus’ head on the first spot without web she found.
“This is what I want to show you.”
Blackarachnia angled Optimus’s head to the left before she moved next to one of the tables to pull a lever. The furthest end of the table raised until the thing was almost upright.
“Oh, no. I know where this is going,” Optimus grumbled.
“Say a word to steal my thunder and your friends will get your optics in the mail.”
“I thought you liked my optics.”
“I don’t—! I only said they were expressive.”
“Fine. Whatever. Go on with your surprise.”
“Thank you.”
Blackarachnia removed the piece of cloth from the table and revealed what Optimus was expecting: a bulky bot-shaped headless drone. He had even gotten right the dull gray it was painted with.
“These were already here when I found the place.” Blackarachnia was giddy, almost bouncing. “So, what do you think?”
“No.”
“Come on, Optimus! I’ve run all the tests and they’ve come up perfect! I’m only missing a subject!”
“No. Find someone else.”
“Listen, I may have kidnapped Cybertron’s Current Glorious Leader, but anyone can do that.”
“I resent that statement. You only brought me here because I let you.”
“I’m not finished! Also, you didn’t have much choice there.”
“I did. I just didn’t take it.”
“ As I was saying, we need to justify you making me Public Enemy Number 2, don’t we? That'll do it. And I’ll add not putting you in a box when I send you back as a freebie.”
That was a point. Optimus did need to justify those expenses.
“Ugh. Fine. Do I have to be awake?”
“Not really. All you have to be is willing.”
For Optimus, it was a blink. But, when he did a system check upon opening his eyes again, he discovered he had missed about an hour. Blackarachnia was right there, though, in front of him and waiting, her eyes expectant. All of them.
“Optimus? How do you feel?”
“Hold on. I’m on it.” He extended the check below his neck. “By the AllSpark… That’s so weird,” he said when his original circuits made conscious contact with the drone’s. “It doesn’t feel like me, but…” He moved a hand in front of his face. The gray fingers closed and opened in front of his eyes.
“Mmm. Don’t think of it as your body. Instead, imagine it’s armor you’re controlling with your mind.”
“Sounds like one of those human cartoons Bee likes to watch,” Optimus muttered. Regardless, the advice worked, and moving the upper servos became easier.
“It sounds to me that you’ve watched them enough to know what I’m talking about.”
Optimus’ optics shifted to one side.
“I might have. A couple of episodes here and there. When the battle choreography was good. What about you?”
“A bit. I grew very fond of the concept of dark magical girl.”
“The dark what now?”
“Like your friend Sari but more like me. Anyway, try to move your legs.”
“Right,” Optimus said, but he did as told.
It was a success.
Kind of.
Coordination between the new legs and his main processor didn’t come easily, and he tumbled. Among other changes, the waist area was thicker too, which didn’t help with the balance, but he had to start somewhere.
As he moved, Blackarachnia laughed out loud. A bit of thunder and lightning in the background and she would’ve looked like a scientist who managed a breakthrough in one of those scary movies Sari had them watch.
Optimus couldn’t help himself. He tumbled a couple of steps in her direction and then, pretending to have no control over himself, he reached forward and flopped on her. The both of them hit the floor with a loud clunk.
“You… aft!” she yelled.
He snickered.
“I’m sorry,” he said without moving.
“No, you’re not.”
“You’re right. I’m not.”
They remained there for longer than should’ve been advisable. Optimus tried but he couldn’t find a reason to move. Apparently, Blackarachnia couldn’t either, because it took her a while to try to push him. When she did, though, he was able to feel her fingers pressing against his chest. The connection between his head and the drone was growing more stable.
“Get off, you. I’ll show you around and we can work on your motor skills.”
“Alright. Let me…”
Optimus placed his hands on either side of his head to push himself upward. As soon as he did, he realized the position they were in. The position he had put them in. Blackarachnia’s smile, a remnant from their previous banter, didn’t help his sudden embarrassment. Self-conscious, Optimus jumped backward and ended up rolling several steps away from her.
“Dork,” she said as she got up. However, she looked as smug as he had felt when he pinned her on the floor. He for sure was not going to do that again.
“Sorry.”
She groaned again and helped him up.
“Once more, no, you’re not. Come on. I’ll show you this place.”
Blackarachnia guided him out of the workshop holding his servos, coaching him as if he was a protoform who had just gotten a spark and was learning how to walk—which, as far as the second part went, it wasn’t that far from reality.
“I must say this is a very convenient finding,” Optimus said. “Any idea of who left this base behind?”
“Not really. Documentation in that regard has been destroyed or it’s heavily encrypted. Besides, tinkering with those drones was more fun than looking into old records.”
“Of course. But aren’t you—?”
“Curious? Yes, I am. It’s just— Let’s say that there’s a limit on the number of projects I can take at a time. Not all of us are overachiever multitaskers, you know?”
“I don’t know if I’d call myself an overachiever, but you are very smart and capable, Blackarachnia.”
She hit him in the shoulder and he barely registered it. Unsure of whether that was because she didn’t do it that hard or if the pain receptors needed some adjustments, he preferred not to comment on it.
“You truly know how to flatter a lady, Prime. How is it that you’re not taken?”
“I’m busy,” Optimus replied, letting the mention of his former title slide. At some point, he had to start recognizing a lost battle.
“Uh-huh.” She opened a door at the end of the corridor. “Here. This seems to be the office of whoever was in charge.”
Calling it an office was generous, even by Optimus’ standards. Taking into account that he and his team had spent a few cycles improvising living conditions by adapting the technology of an entirely different species, it was saying something. The room had no windows, it was dusty and full of old boxes covered in rust. The computer embedded in the wall didn’t seem broken, but that didn’t mean it was in working conditions.
“Best I’ve gathered so far,” Blackarachnia said, walking to open the lower panel of the computer, “is that this place is hidden for a reason, and I think you can already guess why as much as I do.”
“I believe I do, yes,” Optimus replied, poking the side of his head with his new body’s finger—or tried to; his coordination was bad enough the poke landed on his cheek but not on his optic, thank the AllSpark.
Either way, he didn’t want to interfere with whatever Blackarachnia was doing. To distract himself, he opened one of the boxes. It was full of old pads. He grabbed one and tried to turn it on. It didn’t work. Neither did the next. Or the next or the next.
“But they can’t all be broken,” he muttered.
“They are, gumshoe. That’s what I meant when I told you about destroyed documentation. Come here and take a look at what has survived.”
She had turned the computer and made it play a low-quality video. It was a loop of a bot turning the camera on, walking a couple of steps back to show the workshop with the drones, and then it started again.
“This is as far as I’ve gotten.” She scoffed and frowned when she looked at him. “Optimus, what’s with that face?”
Optimus’ grin widened.
“Well, not to brag, but I happen to know how to fix this one.” He stared at his closed fist for a moment. “Or at least I think… There!” he exclaimed when a spike came out from between the knuckles, which he then plugged into the computer. “Do you see the string of code on the lower part of the screen? It means it’s top secret and that it needs a password. Come on, guess who has it.”
Blackarachnia placed her hands on her hips.
“Show off.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
The video’s quality improved in an instant. A second Autobot joined the first and introduced them both as belonging to the scientific division. Next, they took turns throwing facts and figures that, among other things, dated the video to the worst of the war. They also said that the point of this project was to find a way to penetrate Decepticon defenses and infiltrate their headquarters.
At that moment, bigger, bulkier soldiers dragged in a couple of Decepticons who struggled against their captors and yelled a string of obscenities the likes of which Optimus had never heard before. They tried to put on a brave and defiant front even as the soldiers strapped them to the tables.
“Oh, boy,” Blackarachnia murmured. She stood next to Optimus, arms folded and pressed against her chest. “Those poor suckers don’t even suspect what’s coming.”
But Optimus did, and he didn’t doubt this had been sanctioned by every Autobot governing body.
The problem was not the laboratory personnel dismembering the Decepticons. Unlike other species out there, Cybertronians didn’t carry any everlasting damage from things like that. Optimus himself was proof of it. Megatron as well, for that matter; hadn’t he spent dozens of cycles trapped in a laboratory only to come back as strong as ever when his head was reattached to his body? The Decepticons from the video wished they were that lucky. Moments after the scientists exchanged their heads and limbs with the ones belonging to the drones and vice versa, the new joints began sizzling, and about half of them caught fire. The yelling didn’t last long, though. The mix-and-matched drone-bot creatures went off-line mercifully fast.
Blackarachnia half-scoffed, half-snorted.
“That was never going to work.”
Optimus forced his optics to move away from the disturbing content on the screen. The scientists had just called for more prisoners.
“Is that why you said that I had to be willing?”
“Yeah. It was in their original documentation. Kind of. They don’t mark it as a definitive factor, but it is. On the other hand, they were never going to have a willing subject.”
“Well, not everyone can be as charming as you,” Optimus said, going back to the screen. Yes, he had said that, but he wasn’t ready to face her reaction. On the plus side, she didn’t punch him. Yet.
“Optimus?”
“Yes?”
“Do you—? No. Never mind.”
Optimus let another moment pass before turning the video off. The scientists were now on their third batch of Decepticons and Optimus didn’t know how much he’d be able to endure.
“I may need to make a copy of this.”
“What for?” Blackarachnia asked. “To help you recharge better at night?”
“Actually, yes,” he replied in earnest. “I know how that sounds but hear me out,” he added in answer to her jaw dropping. Then, he told her about his plans to improve transparency on Cybertron—and to stop these things from happening ever again. “So, if I show this to the council—”
“You’ll be able to blackmail them!”
“That’s not quite the idea, no.”
“Why are you so boring, Mr. I-do-the-things-by-the-book?”
“I’ve also been known to bend and break the rules every once in a while…” he muttered in response.
“Optimus,” she began, leaning forward, “you’re no longer commanding a hopeless little unit lost in a random organic planet and you’re not some random politician who only needs to be more shrewd.” She poked his chest. “You’re the fragging Magnus! You make the rules now, Optimus.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“I know, I know. It goes against everything your core programming stands for,” Blackarachnia said, dragging the e in everything.
“The Cybertron I’m trying to build is based on consensus. In unity. I’m not—I would hate to be Sentinel. Or—Or Ultra Magnus, for that matter. I’m tired of living in a society divided by fear and, although we are hunting down war criminals, we’re not waging war any longer. What I want—what I’m really after—is the kind of peace I thought we had when we were cadets at the Academy.”
Her face softened. It was visible even under her helmet.
“By the AllSpark, Optimus, why do you have to be so honest?” She placed a hand on his cheek. Softer than any other contact they’d had until then. “I remember when you wanted nothing but be just like Ultra Magnus.”
“That was when I only knew the side of him he wanted to show me. That dream is gone now.” He grabbed her hand, holding it tight as he looked at her, pleading. “But I have others.”
Her expression changed from nostalgic to pained. She pressed her forehead against his chest.
“Oh, Optimus. You have your dreams and your goals and I have mine.” She intertwined her fingers with his. “But I do hope they can align again someday.”
He closed his fingers around hers and, gingerly, placed his hand on her back. She leaned against his touch and they stayed there, silent and motionless, not wanting to shatter the moment.
It was, then, other circumstances that did it for them. Alarms blasted all around them along with flashing red lights.
Reluctantly, Optimus let go of her.
“I hate that noise,” he grumbled.
“So do I,” she answered, sounding even grumpier.
Blackarachnia used the communicator on her wrist to project the hologram of an Autobot ship landing close to the entrance of the hangar. A small group of bots came down from the ship, led by Jazz. Sentinel was there too and, yes, he was the highest-ranking bot, but since when anything he did could be called leading?
“How did they find us so soon?” Optimus asked.
Blackarachnia clicked her tongue.
“With all excitement, I forgot to disable your ship’s tracker.”
It wasn’t his ship in a strict sense but this once he didn’t feel like bantering.
“Any ideas on what’s next, boss bot?”
Optimus grinned.
“Yep. Interested in cementing for good that reward you wanted in front of live witnesses?”
Blackarachnia giggled.
“Always. Go ahead. I’m listening.”
* * *
The corridor that’d take them from the hangar to the interior of the base was wide enough for three bots to walk shoulder to shoulder with relative ease. The rescue unit took advantage of it, forming a tight unit that walked down the corridor, all of them working together and watching each other’s backs. Except that no, not all of them. Sentinel had found his way to the middle of the group, making sure all his flanks were covered. Not surprising in the slightness. Either way, they seemed to remember their training and they were ready for everything. Although maybe not for this one thing in specific.
As soon as they reached the middle of the corridor, the lights went off. Optimus saw with pride how the group recovered from the surprise and turned on their lights. Well, now visibility was limited, tension was up, and the bots down there were primed for the next phase.
Committed to proving he was not a boring aft, Optimus gave a thumbs up. A moment later, an army-worth of steps thundered down the corridor. It was unnerving, so it must’ve been worse for those who were not expecting a gang of bot-shaped headless drones.
Chaos ensued. Battle chaos. The drones fell one by one, forming piles on the corridor. Yet, they kept coming and coming.
“I’ll be honest. I wasn’t expecting them to be this many drones,” Optimus muttered.
“The more they are, the more ammo you’ll have to sustain your argument,” Blackarachnia said. Busy as she was handling the remote control, she spared a glance at Optimus. “This is a good moment for you to go in.”
Optimus took a long ventilation.
“It is.” However, it took him a moment longer to move. “So. See you around?”
This time, he didn’t get a mere glance. Blackarachnia stopped what she was doing to look at him fully.
“Maybe,” she replied. “Someday.”
He forced himself to smile.
“Good. You know where to find me.”
Next, he turned around and got ready to go down the corridor.
“Optimus!” Blackarachnia called out of the blue.
He stopped to ask what happened, and his answer came when she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him in for a kiss.
“I do like your optics, you know,” Blackarachnia murmured when she broke it. “So, how terrible would it be for me to say that, next time I kidnap you, I might keep them?”
“How terrible would it be for me to say that I might not mind?” Optimus replied.
She laughed.
“You flatterer. Go now. Change Cybertron.”
“And you go and kick bounty hunter aft.”
She laughed again.
“I will, don’t worry. I’ll send them home weeping.”
“Can’t wait to read all about that in the weekly reports,” was the last thing he said before he ran away to join the commotion outside.
Nobody expected Optimus’ head to be on the shoulders of the latest drone that attacked them. However, they recognized his voice and stopped before they shot at him. Having a cover to maintain, even though he was in complete control of his movements, he pounced on Sentinel. Low-hanging fruit, maybe, but wasting the chance would’ve been criminal.
By the time the Autobots figured out what was going on—what Optimus wanted them to figure out, anyway—, Blackarachnia had had ample time to escape.
Optimus stuck with his story that she had been the one controlling him and, before anyone could suggest chasing after her, he redirected their attention explaining the original purpose of that laboratory. Everyone was so shocked that even Sentinel had the good grace of not attempting to tamper with the evidence when they transported it back to Cybertron. Not that he’d be able to without the proper access codes.
* * *
The appeal to the council went as Optimus expected. There wasn’t even a need to show them the videos. Just to insinuate the location of the dwarf planet was enough to make the more seasoned council members tremble. They stopped complaining about Optimus and his group wanting to force their hand and accepted to start negotiations. In time, they reached an agreement and the transparency laws passed.
“Here I am,” Optimus muttered to himself when he read the headlines, “changing Cybertron as I promised.”
Blackarachnia also kept her end of the promise. Once in a while, he heard the news about bounty hunters going into retirement due to the frustration—and humiliation—they suffered trying to catch her.
Well. Good riddance, Optimus thought every time.
Good riddance, indeed.