Maelstrom Chapter 37
Pilgrimage 1 Part A

Author's note: This story is part of a LONG series called Maelstrom. It is strictly Gen. 1 - sorry, but that was all that was out when I started writing back in the late 1980's. It began as a fan-publication so the first chapters are in the form of a comic book! If you have not read the nine original Maelstrom Comics and the preceding text stories, I strongly suggest you do. This is a complex universe. They can be found at http// illmatar. deviantart. com (I have put double spaces between the URL here or FF . Net eats the link.) The comics and art which accompanies this series are there.

Most chapters of this series contain strong language and violence. Rated M for adult themes! Really! Transformers characters belong to Hasbro. Critiques adored! This scene contains strong language, violence, and sex. Rated M for adult themes!


Transformers characters belong to Hasbro. Story and OC characters are mine. Critiques adored!

Maelstrom Chapter 37
Pilgrimage 1

Part A

Spike was tired, and this annoyed him. He was used to Autobots as a species being social and prone to seeking each other out for solace when distressed. Except for anyone named Prime apparently. With the Matrix, the leaders seemed to gain, power, insight, and an inconvenient habit of seeking high ground and solitude whenever they were upset.

Maybe it really was the Matrix. Maybe they were turning to its company rather than those around them, even if they weren't really aware of its support. Whatever the case, this tendency to look for privacy made them seem unapproachable, as they were more likely to deal with their pain alone.

It made some people think they were incapable of feeling it. Certainly since they confided in next to no one, others felt more reserved about confiding in them. Few took the time to breach the moat they built around themselves.

Of course, even if you wanted to you had to find the stubborn bastards first.

On the Maelstrom finding solitude was absolutely no problem. Finding one grieving Autobot commander was something else entirely - especially if he was an assassin...and he was avoiding you at all costs.

Spike had a hunch though...or rather Shellshock had a hunch and Spike had a map. Two days earlier Spike had mentioned to his new/old friend that they should bring Prime in on their discussions. Earth's ambassador and the former Autobot turned Slaver-hunter were up to their chins in plans for how to run a political campaign against Sponsor influence on Earth, as well as how best to support the Maelstrom crew with their bloody work. Rodimus would be a natural addition to these discussions. Shellshock had agreed, but after two days of hints and waiting Spike realized Shellshock had no intention of extending that invitation on Spike's behalf.

Some friend.

Well...he was actually. Just not as accommodating as he used to be.

Spike sighed. In many ways it was easier to think of Shellshock as a whole new person, rather than Bumblebee. (Spike never really got used to the name Goldbug anyhow, it seemed sort of a pointless change in the face of a slight make-over. Not this time though. The thought of calling that grim-faced, murderous hulk "Bumblebee" was just plain ludicrous.) Certainly the basis for their friendship had changed. As a young man, Spike had enjoyed Bumblebee's sense of adventure and enjoyment of life. Now Spike was appreciating the man's dedication to slaughtering slavers. Yeah. Definitely not Bumblebee.

Spike paused and looked at his map - REALLY hoping he hadn't forgotten to count any corridors he'd passed. Certainly he wasn't in any danger - they had two empaths, a telepath, and cameras everywhere if he got lost, and Shellshock had shown him how to work the nearly invisible pressure panels by each door to call for directions.

Spike just didn't want to call for directions. Robert laughed at him every time he did - which was exactly every time he tried to go anywhere on his own. The ambassador shuddered. He was well past the areas the crew regularly used and had decorated to distinguish hallways. Every hall, and room, and doorway looked exactly the same in all directions. On a ship that was more than twice the size of Metroplex that amounted to a hell of a lot of not much to look at.

He supposed the Converts that were supposed to be running this thing wouldn't have minded. Spike shuddered again. Shellshock had told him they estimated the ship was designed for a minimal crew of about two-hundred thousand Converts - with space and "accommodations" for as many as a million serving as...cargo. Maelstrom was meant to be a zombie factory. It was an invisible flying harvester ship, designed to slip into a planet's territory undetected, scan every living thing on that planet for potential collection, and do just about anything imaginable to those taken aboard. Having read Rodimus' account of the experiments done on him and Goldbug, Spike felt he had just a little bit to base his imaginings on. The rooms he passed all looked the same on the outside, but if you looked inside you found all sorts of err...interesting equipment to base even more imaginings on.

The whole thing was to be run by one to three Jabez, and an army of Converted slaves. Three had participated in its design, but Shellshock said that was highly unusual. Most Jabez worked completely alone. The only project any of them had ever heard of that broke Maelstrom's record of three Jabez working together was the one that had turned Shellshock human. Goldbug and Rodimus had the pleasure of having six of those creepy bastards putting their bulging heads together to torment them.

"Shit! Lost count again!" Spike said out loud. "It's all this white! It makes me zone right out. Who needs a Conversion chip? These halls will turn me into a zombie by themselves!" Knowing it was useless to try to retrace his steps, Spike sighed and went to the nearest doorway.

Off to the side, cleverly disguised as exactly the same damned hexagon shaped tile as every other fucking part of this nightmare ship, was a pressure plate. Now he was supposed to send a signal by pressing and tilting the tile in a certain sequence. Apparently you could do almost anything from any doorway, including change the course of the ship. Shellshock assured him it wasn't as hard as it sounded.

Spike was unconvinced, but he tried. "Press twice gently on the top left corner, once firmly on the middle left corner, and firmly on the top right corner within two seconds," Spike instructed himself.

"Yes?" Roberts amused voice came at him from nowhere.

"I did it!" Spike cried, triumphant.

"No you didn't, but I've been watching for strange commands from that sector in case you decided to try!" Robert told him. "You actually set the self-destruct."

Spike sighed, not even dignifying the tease. "I'm lost again," was all he said.

"Heh. No you're not. You're there. It's the next door on the right," Robert told him. Talon's obnoxious guffaws joined the pilot's, and Spike knew this minor amusement would soon be spread to the entire crew. These people really needed to get some things to entertain themselves with.

He paused at the door Robert had so snidely pointed out. Did he really want to go in? Part of him was high on revenge. The plans he and Shellshock were working on were solid - and wicked. Rodimus the psychotic assassin would appreciate them, and would no doubt have plenty of his own embellishments. Unleashing him on some of Spike's political opponents would be sheer, blood-thirsty joy. Spike could taste it...but first he would have to get this door open wouldn't he?

Behind it, the being that befriended and killed Spike's son. The same being that had driven his wife completely insane by killing their son in front of her by putting his hand through Daniel's face and pulling a Conversion chip out of his brain.

Spike hadn't been there and hadn't even been allowed to view Daniel's body, but he had seen Rodimus use that move in other archived footage. He used it a lot actually. Lancer too. Apparently if you wanted to get information from a Conversion chip you had to take it out from the front. It gave you a few more fractions of a second to get to the chip before the self-destruct blew.

Spike leaned his head on a wall.

If Rodimus hadn't gone for the chip, Carly might be dead, not merely out of her mind. If he hadn't pulled it out from the front, the slavers who raped and murdered Daniel might never have been caught...but he could have moved Carly to safety first.

It had been a mistake.

Just a mistake.

Carly would never know him again. She would never hold him again, or fold his socks, or help him grieve for Danny, or ask him for a cup of coffee, or, or, or, OR! She could only scream.

Just a mistake.

The Prime title didn't mean perfection.

Just a mistake, but it was a mistake that had cost Spike everything.

Spike knew he was being irrational. He was like one of those damned human families that came to his door after some fight or another when someone died. He was Earth's ambassador and they came to him to complain and yell and threaten. Usually they picked one Autobot in particular to blame for the death of their loved one. The one that fell on their house, or stepped on their dog, or fired the shot that set off the gas main or the water line or whatever. They were always so hard to handle in their anger, grief, and hatred. He never understood the hatred part before.

The Autobots meant well.

In warfare things usually go badly, even when you win.

Spike always felt the families should blame the Decepticons, because the Cons were always the reason whichever Autobot fell, or shot, or stepped, or whatever. That they couldn't see past their immediate pain and their immediate target made him somewhat...scornful.

He understood them better now. Not so easy now, is it? Go ahead Spike...blame it ALL on the Slavers. Let go of the immediate target. Go on. Open the door, shake his bloody hand, and get on with vengeance!

If only Rodimus wasn't so fucking smart. Hell, the son-of-a-bitch was a fucking genius. Really. Spike and Carly had been among the few to see that right from the start, when Hot Rod was hacking his way into Magnus' scheduling records a few times a month to get out of trouble for missing inspections. Did it right from Magnus' own computer too. Never broke in the same way twice. Never got caught either. Magnus probably still didn't know. No one else would have dared. ANY one else would have been caught. Hot Rod made it routine.

Sunstreaker had composed some snide remark about Hot Rod's paint job early on. ('Streaker REALLY didn't like having humans turning heads over someone ELSE'S chassis...the two of them had a few very one sided fights shortly after Hot Rod was activated. Hot Rod got creamed.) After Hot Rod got his ass kicked a few times, SOMEONE hacked in and changed the duty roster. Sunstreaker got sent on Hound's off-road patrol-circuit. Then SOMEONE put paint remover in the Ark's car wash. The results were....cataclysmic. Sunstreaker's paint hadn't been completely removed, but it had run off his body in sticky streaks of oozing yellow and bare metal. The shrieks echoing from the carwash had reminded young Spike of his deceased mother when she discovered a live roach in the laundry.

It took three days of scraping and sanding to get all the half-melted paint off Sunstreaker's hull.

The perpetrator was never caught, but Sunstreaker had shut up about Hot Rod's flames, hadn't he? That evil grin had flashed on Rodi's face every time old Streaker went by for months.

Oh...and the time Hot Rod snuck a skunk into the ventilation system's at Daniel's elementary school so he and Danny could play hooky. By the time the enraged varmint was caught it had run all over the school, spraying near-indelible oil every time it was startled which then circulated through the AC and coated the walls and furniture. The whole school had to be scrubbed from top to bottom....and the students got a week off. Danny hadn't 'fessed up to that one until he was in EDC Academy. Carly had wanted to ground him anyway.

The boy claimed even Hot Rod was surprised about how well that worked. They'd been hoping for a day of illicit vacation time at most. Spike still couldn't figure out how Hot Rod pulled it off without getting sprayed himself. Not a whiff of it on him, while everyone in the school (including Danny) was taking tomato juice showers for days.

Genius.

How in the hell could Rodi have been so stupid?

Just a mistake.
Spike ground his jaw.
Just a mistake.
Sure.

In the end it was neither resolution to his inner conflict nor desire for revenge on the slavers which made Spike open the door. It was just that he didn't want to have come all this way for nothing...and he didn't want to ask Robert for help getting back.

x
x
x

Rodimus sat with his back to the door, his feet up on the window frame, and his chin on one hand. He looked out onto the star-field without really seeing it. This deck was different from the rest of the ship - here the windows were expansive, and even Elita could have stood with no problem if she only could have reached the place. Everything was white of course, but the windows arced from the floor to more than half-way across the ceiling. The natural darkness of space seemed to counter the un-holy glare of Jabez construction.

So he sat on an over-tall Jabez chair, on a stolen Jabez ship that some might argue was their ultimate achievement, in a body that some might argue was really their ultimate achievement, hiding from, among others, his own child who still others might argue was the absolute Jabez ultimate achievement.

He thought about KC and tried to mourn for her but he wasn't ready yet. He always seemed to need time to miss someone before the fact of their death really hit home...smelly corpses not withstanding. Staying away from Edana seemed prudent right now. Staying away from everyone else was just habit.

So when the door opened behind him he was surprised. Lancer knew better. So did Magnus. Elita couldn't get out of her cargo area and was probably well and truly stir crazy by now no matter how serene she seemed. That one was not the sort to let grass grow under her wheels. The Maelstrom crew would go to Lancer before bothering him.

So who?

The person behind him took one step and he knew. He couldn't have been more surprised than if Megatron had shown up to announce that he was back, had discovered old-time religion, and was starting his own home-shopping channel for charity.

The window! Go for the window! Rodi's mind screamed in panic. True they didn't open, being on a space-faring vessel and all, but dying in the frozen vacuum as a Rodi-popsicle couldn't be all bad? Could it?

Spike coughed, as if to let Rodimus know he was there. He was amazed at the size of this room - you could have played regulation football on its expanse. Fortunately the entrance led to a ramp that came up in the center of the room. This deck was the roof of the ship.

There was almost nothing to see here - just huge windows and three white chairs up at the front. One held a statue that might have been a red-head if it was breathing. The ambassador hung by the door, almost afraid to intrude on the silence. He didn't mind bothering Rodimus, but the silence seemed to have something against him.

Finally Spike coughed again.
Nothing.
"Rodimus?"

"What do you need Spike?" Rodimus asked quietly, without turning around.

"How did you know it was me?" Spike asked. It was not the question he really wanted answered.

"Your footstep," Rodimus told him. They were hundreds of yards apart, but the room picked up their voices and threw them across the distance.

"Just one?"

"What do you need Spike?" Rodimus asked again. This time he turned around. He was pale, it made his eyes stand out more. Spike realized then that this warrior was afraid of him.

He was fine with that.

"Shellshock and I have been working on some strategies we'd like to discuss with you," Ambassador Witwicky reported. He approached Rodimus' chair and was not entirely sorry to see Rodimus flinch a bit....but Rodi's eyes narrowed and flared green...he was scared, but a bit defensive too.

Rodimus stared over his shoulder as Spike approached. He wanted some time to himself - a confrontation with Spike was not about to help him settle his mind.

"We can discuss that when we get back to Cybertron," Rodimus stated. "The whole council should hear your ideas, not just me."

"We wanted a member's input," Spike argued.

"Ask Magnus," Rodimus suggested.

"He doesn't think like you do," Spike rejoined.

"Try Elita. She's devious," Rodimus proposed.

"She doesn't think like you do either."

Rodimus whirled the chair around suddenly to face the man approaching him, every muscle coiled like a Sidewinder ready to strike. "What makes you think I can think at all with you around?"

"Because you're Rodimus Prime...and you do what you have to do, no matter who dies, gets hurt, or goes crazy - especially yourself," Spike taunted.

The figure in front of him suffered an obvious flash-back, then another.

Finally, Rodimus answered him in a voice that was low, flat, and murderous. "I really am crazy you know." It was a threat.

"Why do you think we want to talk to you?" Spike said, putting his face right in Rodi's. "Why don't you get your ass out of that chair and make your insanity useful for a change?"

Rodimus grinned - there was nothing happy about it.
x
x
x
Claudia, Lancer, and the kids were spending time together in Claudia's quarters. Lancer sat in a human style chair which Claudia kept in the vacant room next-door for visitors. Claudia sat on the floor with her over-long legs folded up next to her body and her resting hand on her shoulder in the way of her species. The other hand played with Alexandra on the floor. Alex was starting to walk pretty well now (oh the horror!) and found Aunty Claudia was really fun to climb.

Looked like this one had a penchant for high ground too. At least her first word had been "ma".

The two adults didn't talk much - that was the way Claudia liked it. Her species was largely non-verbal. Edana had been the one a few years back to tell her mother that Claudia liked company, but not all kinds of noise. Since that day, Lancer had gladly brought something quiet to do whenever she paid Claudia a visit. Given that she was still bruised from head to toe after Soundwave's audio assault, a quiet day and some help with the kids was just what the mutant wanted.

Claudia's rooms were strange to human eyes. Her species preferred to sleep suspended, so they had rigged a bowl shaped cargo net that hung from the ceiling. It was small, only about four feet across but when it was time to rest Claudia gracefully pulled herself up into it and curled her six foot height into a tiny ball, like a chick in an egg. She would stay in that position without shifting all night. Lancer would have thought that odd for any species except that Jordan did the exact same thing.

The floor was covered in some kind of plush, rust colored carpet made from crushed plant fiber, and the furniture was all made from naturally shaped tree trunk segments. Whichever way the tree had grown, the craftsmen had left intact. All of the drawers and compartments were worked in such way that they flowed with the curves. It made for oddly shaped but graceful furniture that was smooth and polished.

Lancer loved bringing her children here when they were learning to walk - no sharp edges on anything.

There was a water feature shaped like a male of Claudia's species, and a small collection of crystals Claudia called "singing stones."

Lancer had asked her friend about those once, long before her daughter had not so subtly told her to shut up.

"They help me concentrate," was all Claudia said at the time.

Now they brought the Matrix crystals to mind. Lancer sighed. Matrix crystals didn't sing - they read you your rights.

Edana flipped through a book meant for children much older than herself. Normally the girl devoured reading material at break-neck speed but today she was just thumbing through stuff with her head on the floor. Lancer wondered if Edana's unusual listlessness was due to the fever she was still running, or if the Eclipse incident was still upsetting her. Or maybe she was just plain old tired.

Claudia had told Lancer that much of empathy was just like using your other senses - you just felt stuff the way you just heard or smelt things, but tracking someone down by empathy alone was more work. You had to be constantly sorting and scanning through the signals around you to follow what you wanted like a bloodhound on a tail. It required a level of concentration and focus pretty much unheard of in your average six year old.

Of course, average would rarely be a good description for this kid, except for height. Edana was bright, and had learned to read very early, and there wasn't much to do on Maelstrom, so she got lots of practice. Lancer was doing her best to school her child but knew better than to take credit for the way the girl absorbed everything. Lancer suspected Edana had a photographic memory and estimated if she'd been enrolled in a school on Earth, she'd have been placed in the third or fourth grade academically, but socially....

We've got to find a way to get her off this ship, Rodi. She's a bird in a cage! She needs friends! Lancer sent to her mate.

They'd been over that stretch of road before, but this time Lancer's mate didn't even have the usual I know but how do we protect her.... arguments to throw at her. He wasn't "listening". All she got was feedback concerning KC.

In other words he was still sulking.

Lancer gave him the mental equivalent of a nice poke in the ribs.

Where are you? she demanded.

Observation deck alpha he returned sullenly.

Doing what? she sent, as if she had to ask.

The reply was his ceremonial black smear of bitterness, grief, and guilt.

Ah. Gonna be at that long, or are you still fond of doing Vector Sigma's dirty work on yourself?

He slammed his shields up.

Lancer caught her daughter watching her.

"What did he say?" Edana asked.

"Who?" Lancer wondered.

"Daddy, who else?" came the reply in a "Geez, Mom. Duh!" kind of tone.

"How did you know I was bothering your father?" Lancer asked.

"I can see it," Edana told her. "You get brighter when he talks to you. Is he still sad about KC?"

"Sure he is. We all are," Lancer said with a sigh.

Claudia looked up, "Where is he Lancer?" she piped.

"On the observation deck," Lancer answered, cutting herself off before she put "pouting" or "sulking" on the end of her sentence in front of her daughters.

"Why is he there?" Claudia had to ask.

"He's upset about KC," Lancer answered.

"We are all saddened by the loss of a brave soul, but we are not all on the observation deck," Claudia pointed out.

Lancer resigned herself and leaned over to whisper in Claudia's feather covered ear, "He's sulking...and he thinks he should stay away from Edana until he settles down."

Claudia surged effortlessly to her feet. "Why do you both do that? You do the child no good by hiding things from her! Grief is a normal emotion! How will she know how to grieve if not from her parents?"

"Uh..." Lancer said. "He's not exactly healthy in that respect either Claudia. Vector Sigma did a lot of tampering...."

"And you think this drive to be alone is not part of that? He isolates himself - even from you! If I was to try to manipulate someone for their lifetime to make them do as I wished, the very first thing I would do is to make them feel alone!" Claudia raised her overlong arms almost to the ceiling and the amputated stumps of her wings raised tents in the clothing at her shoulders. If she'd still had them, they would have mantled across the room.

"I never thought of that...." Lancer mused. "I always thought it was just how he handled things."

"Even if that were true it isn't healthy," Claudia toned.

Edana watched this exchange with that unnerving interest. "Dad always hides it when he's upset," she remarked. "Like Uncle Shellshock only not as much."

Lancer might have agreed but she was interrupted. Her eyes flared a bit involuntarily. On the observation deck, Spike had just walked in on her mate and she took some of the shock. Lancer felt Rodimus enter a state that frightened her...and one he couldn't "hear" her well in. Shrieking at him mentally didn't get her far, but it didn't stop her from trying as she ran full tilt from the room.

Continued in Part B