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Thank the Allspark that’s over, Optimus thought as he and his team – most of his team – made their slow way towards the accommodation Sentinel had graciously provided for them. (Where, and even whether, he’d found a fitting place for Omega Supreme, who had sought the peace and quiet of the upper atmosphere, was anyone’s guess.) Two stellar-cycles or so in Detroit had not, it turned out, desensitised him to cheering crowds, not on Cybertron, anyway. And definitely not when all he wanted to do was find a quiet place to be with his friends and lay down the two great weights he’d brought with him from Earth, at least for a time. Technically, the Magnus Hammer (which he really should give to Sentinel at some point) had more mass, but the Allspark Matrix resting on his chest felt heavier. Probably because of the price that had been paid to create it.
Optimus was still processing Prowl’s death, even solar-cycles later. It had been so fast, so unexpected, so – in at least one sense – wrong. If any of them were going to make the ultimate sacrifice to protect their adopted city, it should have been the Academy washout stupid enough to take on Megatron with a brand-new jetpack and a weapon he didn’t really know how to use. Not the cyber-ninja who had finally mastered processor-over-matter after so long trying, and could have taught the next generation. Optimus hoped that Jazz had learned enough in his too-brief time living with his team, or that Prowl’s spirit could actually interact with the living (and wasn’t just a figment of his imagination conjured up by the stress of, well, everything); otherwise, the ancient art might be lost for ever.
Which would be partly my fault. Optimus knew that was ridiculous, but he’d always had an overdeveloped sense of responsibility. That was why he had gone along with Sentinel’s plan to sneak off to Archa-7 all those stellar-cycles before, and why he had taken the blame for Elita’s apparent death while Sentinel was “happy” to let him. And why he still felt guilty about what had happened to El- Blackarachnia. I hope she’s still online, so I can finally try to make amends, if nothing else. Prowl might not, strictly speaking, have been one of his ‘bots, being part of the legendary Cyber-Ninja Corps and an unwilling hitchhiker (and, from what Optimus had managed to piece together over time, a draft-dodger who would have gone to the stockade had Master Yoketron not intervened), but while he lived with the team, he was in the Prime’s care, as far as the very young officer was concerned. (Not entirely because it had been Optimus’ mechs who disrupted his meditation and destroyed his ship, though that didn’t help.) I should have done more. Talked him out of his plan. Found another way. But it’s too late now.
Optimus almost smiled as he imagined the cutting remarks Prowl would deliver if he were there with them in the alloy, walking on the ground of his home planet for the first time in a million stellar-cycles, a whole Autobot instead of a sparkless, empty shell and a whisper in the Allspark. This was my choice, Prime. And it was the only logical solution. Besides, it is foolish to dwell on the past. Learn from it by all means, but live for the future. I’d hate for you to join me too soon because you were caught up in what might have been. But Prowl wasn’t with them, except perhaps in spirit. Jazz was taking his body, along with the rescued protoforms, to what remained of the cyber-ninjas’ dojo, where in due course it would be laid to rest in a suitable tomb. Arcee was already there; after so long in a coma, she wasn’t anywhere near ready to face the crowds they had known would greet their formal return. She was on the road to recovery, though, mostly thanks to Ratchet. (Optimus almost smiled again, thinking of the clear chemistry between the intel-bot and the field-tech. He was as happy as he could be that his mentor had found that special person once more, past all reasonable hope.)
A flash of movement in the corner of his optic jerked him out of his reverie. A bronze two-wheeled vehicle mode of a once well-known type was speeding towards them, transforming in less than a nanoklik into a diminutive ‘bot even smaller than Bumblebee and almost as fast. When the mech was finally stationary – having collided with Bulkhead, a collision that became an armour-denting hug – he saw that she was female, and uncomfortably familiar. The sharper lines might have been rounded out, especially around her optics (unusually dark, though true Autobot blue still), but her bodyform was clearly a variant on Prowl’s. It was hardly a common one, and decidedly old-fashioned, although she gave the impression of being around Bulkhead and Bumblebee’s age. Interesting.
“Good to see ya, little buddy,” Bulkhead boomed, rather more quietly than usual. None of them had taken their shared loss lightly, but Bulkhead was perhaps the most expressive of them all, and he and Prowl had always got on well. The usually boisterous young ‘bot had been decidedly subdued since the battle for Detroit.
“Good to see you as well, Bulk,” the newcomer replied, before wriggling out of her friend’s grip to hug the other young ‘bot. “And you, Bee. I’d have been here sooner, but I’ve only just come off shift.”
“Changed your mind about being a field-tech, then, Doc-‘Bot?,” Bumblebee asked. Optimus could have figured out who the girl was from that, even if he hadn’t already. She was clearly a friend of both Bulkhead and Bumblebee, and he knew the pair had met in boot camp and gone straight from there to his crew. They didn’t talk much about their training, but they had let enough slip over the stellar-cycles for their CO to have a pretty good idea about it. He knew that Sentinel had been their drill sergeant – and saddened but not surprised to deduce that he’d also been a bully – and that there had been four other cadets in their group, Wasp (another bully), Ironhide (easily led), Longarm (Shockwave) and the lone female, Glitch, a medibot in the making.
“Hardly! I need a certain amount of servos-on experience, usually in infirmaries, before I’m qualified for off-planet assignments. I’m nearly there – just a few more decacycles to go.”
“And then the galaxy won’t know what’s hit it,” Bumblebee said. Glitch looked puzzled. “Why would I want to hit the galaxy, and how would I go about such an endeavour?”
“I meant-,”
“I know what you meant.” Glitch smiled, and Bumblebee managed to smile back. It wasn’t a smile Optimus had seen on him before. Interesting indeed.
“You certainly haven’t changed much.” Bumblebee suddenly remembered the presence of the rest of the team. “Oh – Glitch, this is my commander, Optimus Prime. Boss-‘Bot, this is Glitch. She was at boot camp with me and Bulkhead.”
Apparently noticing the other mechs for the first time, Glitch snapped to attention, complete with a textbook salute. Sentinel had taught her well – perhaps too well. “It’s an honour to meet you, sir.”
“Stand easy, soldier.” Optimus tried for a friendly smile, and presumably succeeded, as Glitch relaxed a little, though she still didn’t meet his optics. Come to think of it, she hadn’t really met anyone’s optics – except perhaps Bumblebee’s, for a few moments. “Nice to meet you, Glitch. I’ve heard a fair bit about you, one way and another.”
“And this is our field-tech, Ratchet,” Bumblebee carried on when Glitch didn’t seem inclined to respond. It might have been Optimus’ imagination, but the kid seemed to draw herself up even further and force herself not to salute her fellow medibot, bowing her head instead. “Sir.”
“Don’t call me sir; I work for a living,” Ratchet groused. “Always good to meet a colleague, though. Or future colleague. I didn’t think conventional training went on so long.”
“It… usually doesn’t.” Glitch was actively avoiding Ratchet’s gaze. “I had a few… setbacks.”
“And this is Sari,” Bumblebee cut in, seeing his old friend’s discomfort. Seizing the change of subject with both servos, Glitch dropped to one lower-servo joint to bring herself down to the techno-organic’s level (while small for a Cybertronian, she was about twice the height of the average human, and Sari might not have finished growing) – just as Sari zoomed up to the mech’s usual optic-level using her jetpack. She zoomed back down as soon as she realised what had happened, but Glitch was already standing up again. By the time the two females had come to a standstill at ground level, they were both giggling like the kids they almost were. Glitch held out a servo, and Sari shook as much of it as she could (two digits). “Pleased to meet you, Sari.”
“Nice to meet you. And it’s nice to know some people on this planet aren’t scared of organics.” Optimus grimaced as he remembered the press-conference debacle, and Jazz’s initial reaction to Sari, who had delighted in tormenting the poor ‘bot – at the time.
“There’s no reason to be. As far as I can tell, your pathogens have a hard time jumping between organic species on the same planet. I doubt they’d do anything to a Cybertronian. And Autobot alloy is resistant to most corrosives.” Not Meltdown’s acid, Optimus remembered all too well, but Ratchet had hypothesised that that involved Cybertronian internal fluids, and thus wasn’t wholly organic-based. “Anything strong enough to damage it wouldn’t do an organic any good. But one can’t logic one’s way through fear.” Almost too quietly to hear, she added, “I wish one could.”
Suddenly eager to change the subject, she continued, “I thought there were six of you. Where’s -,” she belatedly read the others’ expressions, “oh.” Words seemed to fail her, even the conventional I’m sorry, but she reached out and touched two digits to Bumblebee’s chestplate, over his spark chamber, then to her own, repeating the gesture with Bulkhead (having to stand on the tips of her stabilising servos to do so). It was a gesture of sympathy and shared grief, typically between equals, though Glitch seemed to come from a higher social class than her friends, not that she appeared to care. (And it was old, pre-Great War at least. Optimus wouldn’t have recognised it had he not been so interested in history. It said a lot about the young fembot’s background.) Glitch had never met Prowl, but she mourned him for Bulkhead’s and Bumblebee’s sake.
“He’d’ve liked you,” Bulkhead said, trying not to be too downsparked. “And you’d’ve liked him. Y’know, you’d be welcome to come to the – funeral, whenever it is.”
“I’ll be there,” Glitch promised. “I might have to swap shifts, but I’ll be there. I’m owed a few favours.”
“You really haven’t changed, have you?” Bumblebee shook his head. “Still doing everything for everyone.”
“Some things have changed,” Glitch countered with an almost sly smile. She held out her servos, transforming one into a small blowtorch and the other into a laser scalpel, immediately attracting Ratchet’s professional attention. Doubly so when she activated a very familiar pair of magnets and a nearly-as-familiar EMP generator built into her arms. As Optimus observed the scene, he could imagine Prowl beside him, clear as day, watching with approval and well-hidden affection. On a free Cybertron, a young ‘bot was showing off her new mods to friends she hadn’t seen in stellar-cycles. There would be humans like her back in Detroit, alive because of a maintenance crew’s courage and ingenuity, a techno-organic’s talents, a human’s brilliance, an Elite Guardsbot’s integrity, and above all a cyber-ninja’s sacrifice. This is what I died for, Prime. Life, freedom, a chance to make our fossil of a society better. The Allspark Matrix hanging from Optimus’ neck felt a little lighter.
“I didn’t know Cybertronians could have autism,” Sari commented as they continued on their way, Glitch having finally headed off to get some stasis after a long shift at the infirmary.
“What on Cybertron is that?,” Ratchet asked.
“I’m not sure exactly what it’s classed as, but it’s when your brain works in a certain way. Some people call it a disability, but others say that’s too negative. And I think Glitch has a mild form of it. She wasn’t looking anyone in the optics very much, she takes things literally, and she had trouble carrying on a conversation at first. Classic signs.”
“Didn’t know it had a name, but I’ve known a few ‘bots like that,” Ratchet said. “Good ‘bots, usually, but they burn themselves out quickly, or Cybertron does.” He sighed. “The great machine’s never been kind to cogs who don’t fit, and it’s getting worse.” Optimus had never heard him talk like that before. The older mech usually steered clear of politics, except when Optimus was spending too long with the history vids, though he hadn’t been afraid to speak up for his young Prime in front of Ultra Magnus. But he knew the system well, had worked his way up through it before the Great War, and must have seen it change over the aeons. Not for the better, he clearly thought. “I hate to think what it’ll do to that kid.”
“What if she weren’t on Cybertron?” Just three stellar-cycles before, Optimus wouldn’t have even considered the suggestion he was about to make. Earth had really altered his perception of his home. “What if she were stationed off-world, with a team that treated her as an individual with her own needs and strengths, not just a piece of machinery?”
“I think I know where you’re going with this, and I don’t need no slaggin’ assistant.” The field-tech’s grim expression visibly softened. Glitch must have made quite an impression on him. “But I wouldn’t object to taking on an apprentice. Filling the gap between what she’s learned in textbooks and some infirmary and what it’s actually like in the field.”
“Jazz would certainly be willing to help,” Optimus mused. “But we’d have to have good reasons for seconding her in particular. For one thing, I don’t think she’d like being a charity case. Bumblebee, Bulkhead, you know her. Would she be a valuable addition to the team?”
“Slag, yeah!,” Bumblebee replied without hesitation. “One on one, she could at least hold her own with any of us back in boot-camp, even Sentinel, and that was before she had any mods.”
“She’s smart,” Bulkhead added. “And I don’t just mean her ability. Our first combat simulation, she took charge after Wasp took out Bumblebee, made a plan, got everyone else working together. If Shockwave hadn’t been messing about, we’d have finished in record time.”
“Fastest thing on two wheels,” Bumblebee continued. “I never quite beat her on an obstacle course, though she never beat me in a straight sprint. She’d have no problem with Detroit’s traffic.”
“And you saw how friendly she is,” Sari put in. “Even Captain Fanzone would be OK with her.”
“Her ability could also be useful,” Optimus said. He already knew what it was. Glitch had an incredible memory and capacity to absorb and analyse data. With Sari planning to stay on Cybertron and learn more about her new powers, and Decepticon groups scattered throughout the galaxy likely to try to take revenge for their leader’s defeat, useful could well be an understatement.
“And she’s willing to learn,” Ratchet pointed out. “Too many young ‘bots come out of training thinking they know everything. She isn’t one of them, but she knows enough for now.”
“I’ll speak to Jazz as soon as possible,” Optimus declared. “And if he can’t get things moving, Sentinel will.” That was a helpful problem with the great machine – it was so easily manipulated. “In the meantime, we should all get some stasis of our own. It’s been a long solar-cycle.” That it had, and there would be others like it, as the team was caught more and more between two worlds. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, especially if it allowed others to move back and forth to the benefit of all concerned.