by Birgit Staebler (mac@robyn.rhein-neckar.de)
"Have you seen Rodimus?" Spike Witwicky asked, addressing
the large, greenish grey robot in front of him.
Kup frowned. "He isn't in his office?" he asked.
"Nope. Just came from there. I need him to sign a few
things and he also wanted a report about my latest meeting with the President."
Kup nodded. He knew that the meeting between the Earth's
Ambassador to Cybertron and the American President had been very important
for the Autobots. Rodimus was currently in an intense exchange of offers
and contracts concerning the land Metroplex stood on. When the City had
been built the Autobots, under the leadership of Optimus Prime, he and
the President of the United States had agreed on a temporary contract concerning
the land. Now, after the contract was almost running out, Rodimus Prime
was trying to find a satisfactory solution for both parties. It was a stressful
job, which Spike tried to make easier by doing some of the footwork, but
he couldn't take everything off the young Prime's shoulders. Adding to
the strain of getting a contract with no negative clauses for any side
was the constant danger of the Decepticons. Galvatron had surfaced once
more and was hitting one planet after another, sparing no one. Everyone
called for Autobot help and Rodimus was constantly on the line with some
official, trying to console him, trying to coordinate Autobot aids.
Thinking back the last few months, Kup had to admit that
he hadn't seen Rodimus for more than one hour a day. He was mostly either
running around the city, flying to one planet or other when his personal
presence was requested, or he locked himself inside his office, brooding
for hours over papers and files and memos.
And then there was the European delegation, which had
arrived yesterday and which was using Metroplex for a three-day conference
about business relationships between themselves, and themselves and the
Autobots. Rodimus had been sitting in nearly every of those conferences,
coordinating, placating, bargaining, talking. Kup had to confess that the
boy was good at his job; very good.
"Try paging him," he finally suggested.
Spike grimaced. "Kup, please! Don't you think I haven't
thought about it? He isn't answering any paging calls and Blaster said
he switched off his personal beeper." The ambassador shrugged. "I guess
he tried to take some time off."
Kup looked a bit surprised. "Without telling anyone?"
A dark shadow crossed his face. "I thought I had told the young hot head
to give at least me or Ultra Magnus a short note when he leaves! Who does
he think he is?"
"Easy, Kup," Spike tried to calm the security officer.
"He's under a lot of pressure. He needs some personal space."
Kup scowled. "What if the Decepticons make a hit-and-run?
If he's too far away we might not make it in time to help him! What if
..."
Spike held up a hand. "Whoa, stop it! He's a grown boy,
Kup, remember? He can take care of himself."
"Not against an armada of Decepticreeps, he can't," the
old warrior muttered and shook his head.
Spike sighed and gathered his notes. "I'll just dump
everything on his desk with a note attached to it." With that he left Kup,
who was muttering darkly to himself, alone.
* * *
Rodimus wasn't outside Autobot City or even very far away
from where Kup and Spike had met. He was sitting in an abandoned room on
the lower levels of Metroplex, those who had been driven into the ground
of land the city stood on. This divided Metroplex into two parts, the transforming
one and the stationary one. Whenever there was the need for Metroplex to
take on his robot mode, the humans and Autobots inside of him evacuated
down into the lower levels, which then would power up to take over the
data and functions of Metroplex. As long as Metroplex remained stationary
himself, no one came down here. Or only very rarely.
The room was kept mostly dark, with the only light coming
from the small, bluish lamps inside some artwork pinned to the wall. Rodimus
had no idea what this artwork was supposed to represent, but it had been
a gift from someone to Optimus Prime and it served its use as a lamp. Leaning
back in his chair, which was, somehow, more comfortable than his office
chair, he read over the reports. Some of the stuff was unimportant, but
he felt he should read it nevertheless.
Suddenly someone walked into his refuge and he looked
up. It was a human, maybe in his mid-fifties, with graying hair and lively
blue eyes. The man was dressed in a suit and had a pin attached to his
jacket. Rodimus identified him as the British delegate he had met earlier.
David Michael Wardt, if he recalled correctly. A nice character to be around,
easy-going and not as loud and demanding as the rest of the delegates always
came across. Wardt made his point by speaking quietly, though with force
and conviction, silencing even the loudest screamer with his powerful aura
and soft manners.
"Oh," he now said, his dark voice as soft as always.
"I didn't think someone was in here. I heard those levels never get used
unless Metroplex has to transform, so I thought I might get some quiet
down here." He smiled. "But I don't want to bother you, so I better go."
"No, no," Rodimus held him back, somehow glad for the
interruption. "You can stay if you want."
Wardt walked over to one of the chairs and hopped on,
looking at Rodimus' stack of papers. "Still working this late?" he asked.
Rodimus harrumphed. "Yes. Energon consumption reports,
conference logs, requests go over this or sign that, work schedules, recycling
figures. I could go on for hours." He shook his head with a sigh. "It never
stops."
Wardt raised an eyebrow.
"Sometimes I find myself wanting to be in a battle against
Decepticons just to avoid this stuff." He shuffled the papers and placed
them on his lap.
"It's a pretty big responsibility," Wardt said conversationally,
but his voice was laced with understanding.
A wry smile passed over the Autobot leader's lips. He
only nodded.
"And who do you share this great responsibility with?"
Ward wanted to know, leaning slightly forward.
Rodimus frowned. "Well, Kup is the head of security,
I have Ultra Magnus as Metroplex's commander, Blaster to keep track of
communications and coordination of arrival and departure...." He made a
vague gesture. "Others help with the work as well. It gets spread around.
Everyone does his or her share. We have a lot of humans working here, mainly
as security and technicians and engineers...." He shrugged.
Wardt held up his hand. "No, wait. I didn't say work,
I said responsibility, Rodimus Prime." His blue eyes grew intense. "Who
shares you responsibility for the lives under your command? I watched your
people since I came here. It's quite easy to see it. They all come to you
with their worries, their work, their problems, their questions for advise
and help." He spread his hands. "Who do you go to? Who helps you with your
problems, gives you advise, hears out your worries?"
Rodimus sighed deeply and laid down the papers. "Well....
I ... you see, it's my responsibility. I carry the Matrix, I am the Autobot
leader. I can't put it on anybody else!" He shook his head, his eyes reflecting
his inner conflict just at the thought of dragging someone else into the
tight web or work and responsibility, a burden he carried alone, had to
carry alone for all he knew.
The British delegate leaned back a bit, regarding the
much larger robot with a faint smile. "I didn't want to suggest that you
should put it on anybody else either, just to talk about it, share the
burden as much as you can." His smile grew. "You see, I was a lieutenant
in one of the crisis centers erected all over Europe when the threat of
the Decepticons was still much larger than it is now. I saw a lot of superiors
come and go, and you could always tell the good officers from the bad.
The bad ones were loaded with this terrible sense of responsibility. They
were so consumed by it that they seemed to walk through the day with tunnel
vision. They wanted to do what was right for their men, to help them wherever
they could, but after some time they became isolated. They didn't delegate
work and they worked themselves into such lonely positions that they became
outright unapproachable, downright cranky."
Wardt grinned at Rodimus' grimace.
"Those officers," he continued, "were really unsociable,
being in such a fog of worry and self-doubt that nobody could get through.
It was as if a dark cloud was hovering above them, not letting any sunshine
through. When you reach this point, your people stop coming to you because
they don't want to add their worries to the already existing ones, to add
to the black cloud above your head. They try to help you by keeping away,
but it isolates you even more because you start doubting yourself even
more. What did you do wrong? Why didn't they come to you as before? Why
do they tread around you as if you were made of glass?"
Rodimus had noticed how the story Wardt was telling had
slipped from third persons to a more personal 'you'.
"Are you saying that is what is happening to me?" he
asked calmly.
Wardt smiled. "I just looked at your eyes and saw the
same look I saw in so many faces in the crisis center. True, you are a
robot, Rodimus Prime, and you can take much more than the average human,
but I doubt that this runs true in the emotional sector. You hold the same
dark and troubled look as many of my superiors then did and when I got
promoted into the ranks of the delegation for Great Britain I vowed not
to fall into the same trap. Responsibility for many brings a load of doubt
and worries with it, but you can handle it if you know how. We all need
someone to talk to, to help shoulder the burden. I was lucky to find such
a person in my wife. She keeps me sane when work gets too much, when the
responsibility is trying to choke me."
Rodimus rubbed his optics. "Then you are a lucky man,
Mr. Wardt."
Wardt smiled. "I always thought so myself."
"I have no one whom I could trust with this burden, without
fearing he or she would break down under the weight of it." A tired smiled
danced over his features. "But I will keep your advice in mind."
Wardt nodded. "As long as you do that you are a big step
further than before. Now," he hopped down from the chair, "I think I should
leave you alone. One last proposal, though: get some fresh air, get some
new images in your mind, try to thin out the dark cloud above you or it
will bury you alive. Then you can return to work and you'll see that everything
is much easier."
Rodimus only nodded and watched the delegate leave. His
words rang true and he did feel like he was about to get a screaming fit
if he didn't get out of here. With a quick move he put the papers back
into a folder and stowed them away. Then he walked out of the room and,
without anyone noticing him, he slipped out the back door.
The day was sunny and warm, a truly perfect day,
as humans would call it. Rodimus had transformed and simply let his other
part, the young and careless part, the part that was still Hot Rod and
which he couldn't banish from his self even if he tried, take over. He
had driven for hours and suddenly found himself at the rim of one of the
natural wonders of this planet: the Grand Canyon. Deciding to have some
fun and also get out of the open he climbed down to the bottom. Right now
he wanted to be alone down here, enjoy the quiet and get the bureaucratics
out of his mind. He wanted to shed the mantle of Rodimus Prime and be no
one else than Hot Rod.
He rarely let his former self surface because it always
caused deep scowls on Kup's face and produced criticism from both Kup and
Ultra Magnus. He had to be Rodimus
Prime for everyone, not the fun-loving Hot Rod,
the one who had never cared about responsibility. But right now, in this
very moment, there was no one here to criticize. He was alone.
Suddenly he became aware of a sound echoing through the
canyon. It was a faint whining sound, like that from a jet engine, and
it was rapidly coming closer. There couldn't be a jet down here, could
there? And if there was, then it could only mean one thing: Decepticons!
But Rodimus Prime didn't have any chance to evade the speeding jet shooting
toward him. He could only stare at what was coming at him with an incredible
speed, then everything went black for a second.
The robot who then introduced himself to him would turn
out to be the best friend he had for the next months. Midnight reflected
many of his own worries, being burdened with leadership as him while trying
to keep his own identity as well as trying not to disappoint the others'
trust in him. Though Midnight had to fight another opposition than Rodimus,
both of them talked for hours about everything, from their past to their
present state. It helped them both and though Optimus Prime's return hit
Rodimus hard, especially when the reawakened former Autobot leader turned
out to be nothing but a zombie programmed by the Quintessons to kill those
he had cared about in his life, he came through it.
When Optimus Prime was resurrected once more and finally
took back the Matrix, Hot Rod felt free, though the feeling lasted only
a few weeks. It was soon replaced with a much deeper feeling of unexplained
depression and more doubts than he thought he had ever had in his time
as Rodimus Prime. That the cure for that would come in form of a handicapped,
female humanoid with an attitude that sometimes drove him crazy, he'd never
have imagined in all his life.
Rodimus Prime came back, but different and more secure
in his new position and life as the Autobots' second-in-command than he
had ever been. He finally found someone to truly share his burden, who
understood him because she was closer to him than anyone would ever get.
She was his Interface partner and she was his friend.