Thank you everyone for your reviews, they are greatly appreciated.

Here's the revised Chapter 8

Sparkling - Newborn

Youngling - Child

Breem - 8.3 Earth minutes

Joor - About 6.5 Earth hours

Orn - about 13 Earth days

Cycle – About 3 Earth weeks

Stellar Cycle – About 73 Earth months

Vorn - About 83 Earth years

Enjoy!


Can you keep a secret?

Chapter 8

The next orn, Prowl is off to a meeting first thing, but before he goes, he digs out an old article about Optimus Prime.

"Read this," he says through a mouthful of energon treats. "It's good background information."

I don't want any background information! I feel like saying, but Prowl's already out the door.

I'm tempted to leave it behind and not even bother looking at it, but it's quite a long journey from Maida Vale to work, and I haven't got any pads with me. So I take the article and grudgingly start reading it on the shuttle train. I suppose it is quite an interesting story. How Optimus Prime and Alpha Trion were friends ever since they met at some small marketing agency, and they decided to go into business, and Optimus was the creative one and Alpha was the extroverted playbot one, and they became multimillionaires together, and they were so close they were practically like brothers. There's some quotes from a business mogul saying how annoying it was having meetings with them because they were so in tune with each other and expected everyone else to follow their thoughts.

And then Alpha crashed and died the next orn. And Optimus was so devastated he shut himself away from the world and said he was giving it all up.

And of course now that I read all this, I'm starting to feel a bit stupid. I should have recognized Optimus Prime. I mean, I certainly recognize Alpha Trion. For one thing, he was gorgeous. And for another, he was all over the news when he died. I can remember it vividly now, even though I had nothing to do with Praxus Corporation then.

I emerge from the underground into a bright morning, and head toward the energon smoothie bar where I usually pop in before work. I've got into the habit of picking up a pink cora energon smoothie every morning, because it's healthy.

And also because there is a very cute Polyhex mech who works behind the counter, called Beachcomber. He has royal blue armor, and the most amazing body. (In fact, I actually had a miniature crush on him before I started going out with Prowl.) When he isn't working in the energon bar, he's doing a course on sports science, and he's always telling me stuff about essential minerals and what you energon ratio should be.

"Hiya," he says as I come in. "How's the kickboxing going?"

"Oh!" I say, coloring slightly. "It's great thanks!"

"Did you try that new maneuver I told you about?"

"Erm, yes! It really helped!"

"I thought it would," he says, looking pleased, and goes off to make my pink cora smoothie.

The truth is I don't really do kickboxing. I did try it once, at our local leisure center, and to be honest, I was shocked! I had no idea it would be so violent. But Beachcomber was so enthused about it and kept saying how it would transform my life, I couldn't bring myself to admit I'd given up after only one session. So I kind of…fibbed. I mean, he'll never know. It's not like I ever see him outside the energon bar.

"That's one pink cora energon," says Beachcomber.

"And…a crusted energon treat," I say. "For...my colleague." Beachcomber picks up the treat and pops it in a bag.

"You know, that colleague of yours needs to think about his refined sugar levels," he says with a concerned frown. "He's averaging three treats a week."

"I know," I say earnestly. "I'll…tell him. Thanks, Beachcomber."

"No problem!" says Beachcomber. "And remember: one-two-swivel!"

"One-two-swivel," I repeat. "I'll…remember!"


As I arrive at the office, everything's quiet apart from a couple of bots murmuring on the comm. unit. It's as though, after the hubbub of yesterday, everyone's a bit exhausted. In fact, as I sit down in my chair, Springer gives an enormous yawn—then sees me watching and scowls.

"Hot Rod." Sentinel appears out of his office and snaps his fingers at me. "Appraisal."

My tanks give an almighty lurch, and I nearly choke on my last bite of crusted treat. Oh, Primus. This is it. I'm not ready.

Yes, I am. Come on. Exude confidence. I am a mech on his way somewhere.

Suddenly I remember Tracks and his I-am-a-successful-mech walk. I know Tracks is an obnoxious fragger, but he does have his own company and make zillions of credits a vorn. He must be doing something right. Maybe I should give it a go. Cautiously I stick out my ass, lift my head, and start striding across the office with a fixed, alert expression on my face.

"Is something wrong, Hot Rod?" says Sentinel as I reach his door.

"Er, no."

"Well, you look very odd. Now. Sit down." He shuts the door, sits down at his desk, and opens a form marked "Staff Appraisal Review." "I'm sorry I couldn't see you yesterday. But what with Optimus Prime's arrival, everything got fragged up."

"That's ok."

I try to smile, but my mouth is suddenly dry. I can't believe how nervous I feel. This is worse than an academy report. I watch Sentinel as he scrolls down the pad. It occurs to me that objectively he's quite good-looking, despite his receding paint lines. He's tall and slim and has an infectious laugh. If you met him at a party, you'd probably enjoy chatting with him.

But I've never met him at a party. I've only ever seen him here. My scary boss.

"Ok. So…Hot Rod." He looks at the pad and starts ticking boxes. "Generally, you're doing fine. You're not generally late…You understand the tasks given to you…You're fairly efficient…You work ok with your colleagues…blah, blah…blah…Any problems?" he says, looking up.

"Er, no."

"Do you feel harassed?"

"Er, no."

"Good." He ticks another box and starts writing in a panel at the bottom of the pad. "Well, I think that's it. Well done. Can you send Springer in to see me?"

What? Has he forgotten? "Um, what about my promotion?" I say, trying not to sound too anxious.

"Promotion?" He pauses in his writing. "What promotion?"

"To marketing executive."

"What the frag are you talking about?"

"It said in the ad for my job…" I pull the old pad out of my subspace, where it's been since yesterday. "'Possible promotion after a vorn." It says it right there." I push it across the desk, and he looks at it with a frown.

"Hot Rod, that was only for exceptional candidates. You're not ready for a promotion. You'll have to prove yourself first." He hands the pad back.

"But…I'm doing everything as well as I can! If you just give me a chance—"

"You have the chance at Glen Energon." Sentinel raises his eyebrows at me, and I feel a twinge of humiliation. "Hot Rod, bottom line is, I don't think you're ready for a higher position. In a vorn we'll see."

A vorn?

"Ok? Now, hop to it."

My processor is whirling. I have to accept this in a calm, dignified way. I have to say something like "I respect your decision, Sentinel," shake his hand, and leave the room. This is what I have to do.

The only trouble is I can't seem to get up out of my chair. After a few moments Sentinel looks at me, puzzled. "That's it, Hot Rod."

I can't move. Once I leave this room, it's over.

"Hot Rod?"

"I've done everything I can!" The words spill out before I can stop them. "I've been writing copy for leaflets, I've been making contacts, I sorted out that whole mess with the skating promotion…Plus, I've been doing all the typing and stuff…I mean, it's more like two jobs I've been doing!"

"I see." Sentinel looks grave. "Well, if you're finding it too much—"

"No! It's not that…" I crumple the pad in frustration. "I just want to be doing more interesting things! I've had loads of idea…Like, it was me who came up with the idea of giving away Praxus Gum with health club towels. Remember?"

Sentinel puts down the pad and sighs. "Hot Rod, I'm not saying you haven't done well—"

"Please promote me! It's the only thing I want in the whole world, and I'll work so hard—I promise. I'll come in at the end of the cycle, and I'll…I'll wear Pristine Armor…"

"What?" Sentinel is staring at me as though I've turned into a cyber fish.

Ok, I have to calm down here. Take a deep breath. Nice and steady. "I feel I deserve a promotion."

There are my cards. Right on the table.

"And I feel you're not up to it," replies Sentinel without hesitation.

The trouble is I've never been any good at cards. "Right." I bite my lip. "So, when—"

"Hot Rod, moving up to marketing executive is a big step. If you want to get ahead, you have to create your own chances. You have to carve out your own opportunities. Now, seriously. Can you please get the frag off out of my office and get Springer for me?

As I leave, I can see him raising his eyes to Primus and scribbling something else on my pad.


I walk dejected, back to my desk, and Cliffjumper looks up with a beady expression.

"Oh, Hot Rod," he says, "your cousin Tracks just called for you."

"Really?" I say in surprise. Tracks never comm.'s me at work. In fact he never comm.'s me at all. "Did he leave a message?"

"Yes, he did. He wanted to know, have you heard about your promotion yet?"

This is now official. I hate Tracks. "Right," I say, trying to sound as though this is some boring, everyorn inquiry. "Thanks."

"Are you being promoted, Hot Rod? I didn't know that!" His voice is high and piercing, and I see several people raise their helms in interest. "So, are you going to become a marketing executive?"

"No," I mutter, my face hot with humiliation. "I'm not."

"Oh!" Cliffjumper pulls a puzzled face. "So, why did he—"

"Shut up, Cliffjumper," says Trailbreaker. I give him a grateful look and slump into my chair.

Another whole vorn. Another whole vorn of being the crappy marketing assistant, and everyone thinking I'm useless. Another vorn of being in debt to Dad, and Tracks and Blades laughing at me, and feeling like a complete failure. I switch on my terminal and summon up the copy for a new Praxus Lite brochure. But suddenly all my energy's gone.

"I think I'll get some energon," I say. "Does anyone want one?"

"You can't get energon," says Cliffjumper, giving me an odd look. "Haven't you seen?"

"What?"

"They've taken the energon machine away," says Springer. "While you were in with Sentinel."

"Taken it away? But…why?"

"Dunno," he says, walking off toward Sentinel's office. "They just came and carted it away."

"We're getting a new machine!" says Trailbreaker, walking past with a bundle of proofs. "That's what they were saying downstairs. A really nice one, with proper energon. Ordered by Optimus Prime, apparently."

Optimus Prime ordered a new energon machine?

"Hot Rod!" Cliffjumper is snapping. "Did you hear that? I want you to find the leaflet we did for the Tesco promotion two years ago. Sorry, Mommy?" he says into the comm. "Just telling my assistant something."

His assistant. Primus, it pisses me off when he says that.

But to be honest, I'm feeling a bit too dazed to get annoyed.

It's nothing to do with me, I tell myself firmly as I root around the bottom of the filing cabinet. He was probably planning to order a new energon machine anyway. He was probably—

I stand up with a pile of pads in my arms and nearly drop them all on the floor.

There he is.

Standing right in front of me, wearing his red and blue flamed armor.

"Hello again." His dark optics crinkle in a smile. "How are you doing?"

"Er…good, thanks." I swallow hard. "I just heard about the energon machine. Um, thanks."

"No problem."

"Now, everyone!" Sentinel comes striding up behind him. "Mr. Prime is going to be sitting in on the department this morning."

"Please." Optimus Prime smiles. "Call me Optimus."

"Right you are. Optimus is going to be sitting in this morning. He's going to observe what you do, find out how we operate as a team. Just behave normally; don't do anything special…" Sentinel's optics alight on me and he gives me an ingratiating smile. "Hi there, Hot Rod! How are you doing? Everything ok?"

"Er, yes, thanks, Sentinel," I mutter. "Everything's great."

"Good! A happy staff, that's what we like. And while I've got your attention"—he coughs, a little self-conscious—"let me just remind you that our corporate family day is coming up in a cycle. A chance for all of us to let our guards down, enjoy meeting each other's families, and have some fun!"

A couple of bots exchange looks. Until this moment, Sentinel has always referred to this as the corporate fragtard day and said he'd rather have his spike torn off than bring any member of his family to it.

"Anyway, back to work, everyone! Optimus, let me get you a chair."

"Just ignore me," says Optimus Prime as he sits down. "Behave normally."


Behave normally. Right. Of course.

So that would be sit down, put my feet up on the desk, check my messages, put some hand oil on, eat a few energon treats, read my horoscope on the terminal, read Prowl's horoscope, send a message to Prowl, wait a few breems to see if he replies, take a swig of energon, and then finally get around to finding the Tesco leaflet for Cliffjumper.

I don't think so.

As I sit back down at my desk, my processor is working quickly. Create your own chances. Carve out your own opportunities. That's what Sentinel said.

And what is this if not an opportunity?

Optimus Prime himself is sitting here, watching me work. The great Optimus Prime. Boss of the entire corporation. Surely I can impress him somehow?

Ok, perhaps I haven't gotten off to the most brilliant start with him.

But maybe this is my chance to redeem myself! If I can just somehow show that I'm really bright and motivated…

As I sit, leafing through the file of promotional literature, I'm aware that I'm holding my helm slightly higher than usual, as though I'm in a posture class. And as I glance around the office, everyone else seems to be in a posture class, too. Before Optimus Prime arrived, Cliffjumper was on the comm. to his mom, but now he's sitting up ramrod straight and is typing briskly, occasionally pausing to smile at what he's written in a what-an-intelligent-bot-I-am way. Springer was reading the sports section, but now he stands up and comes over to Skyfire's desk.

"Did you have any more thoughts on the artwork for the Praxus Gum promotion?" he says, in a loud, too casual voice.

"Er, yeah," says Skyfire, looking bewildered.

"So this is the giveaway." Springer picks up a small, multicolored plastic toy. "Yeah. Well, you know, maybe we can use this in some way. Take the concept…turn it inside out, and play with it. Have some fun."

Oh, Primus. He's totally showing off. This is so embarrassing.

"You've got it upside down," comes Optimus Prime's dry voice. Everyone stiffens, and Springer turns around, clearly joyful at having attracted Optimus Prime's attention.

"Absolutely! I see what you mean." He nods a few times. "So, what, like, the concept needs to be turned upside down? Reversed, if you like—"

"Not the concept," says Optimus. "The toy."

Springer looks blankly at the toy in his fingers.

"It sits the other way up. You pull the rip cord and it spins." Optimus gives Springer an appraising look. "You knew that, right?"

A faint color creeps up Springer's face, clashing with his pale green armor. "Er, sure," he says. "Of course I did! So, anyway. We'll…we'll experiment more, ok?"

There's an excruciating silence as he puts the toy back on Skyfire's desk and stiffly walks back to his own.

I want to laugh. But I'm too petrified. What if Optimus Prime picks on me next?

"Hot Rod?" says Cliffjumper in a falsely sweet voice. "Have you found that leaflet I was asking you for? Not that there's any hurry—"

"Er, yes, I have!" I say. I push back my chair, stand up, and walk over to his desk. I'm trying to look as natural as possible. But Primus, this is like being on TV or something. My legs aren't working properly and my smile is pasted onto my face and I have a horrible conviction I might suddenly shout "Petrorabbits!" or something stupid like that.

"Here you are, Cliffjumper!" I say, and carefully lay the leaflet on his desk.

"Bless you!" says Cliffjumper. His optics meet mine, and I realize he's completely acting, too. He puts his hand on mine and gives me a twinkly smile. "I don't know what we'd do without you, Hot Rod!"

"That's quite all right!" I say, matching his tone. "Anytime!"

Frag, I think as I walk back to my desk. I should have said something cleverer, I should have said something like 'Team-work is what keeps this operation together.'

Ok, never mind. I can still be impressive.

Trying to act as normal as possible, I open a document and start to type as quickly and efficiently as I can, my back ramrod straight. I've never know the office this quiet. Everyone's tapping away; no one's chatting. It's like being in an exam. My foot's itching, but I don't dare scratch it.

How on cybertron do people do those cyberfly-on-the-wall documentaries? I feel completely exhausted, and it's only been about five breems.

"It's very quiet in here," says Optimus Prime after a while. "Is it normally this quiet?"

"Er…" We all look around uncertainly at one another.

"Please, don't mind me. Talk away like you normally would. You must have office discussions." He gets up from his seat, spreads his arms, and begins to walk around. "When I worked in an office, we talked about everything. Politics, books…For instance, what have you all been reading recently?"

"Actually, I've been reading the new biography of Vector," says Cliffjumper at once. "Fascinating stuff."

"I'm in the middle of a history about the Golden Age," says Springer.

"I'm just re-reading Proust," says Trailbreaker with a modest shrug. "In the original French."

"Ah." Optimus Prime nods, his face unreadable. "And…Hot Rod, is it? What are you reading?"

"Um, actually…" I swallow, playing for time.

I cannot say Horoscopes for Lovers. Even though it is actually very good. Quick. What's a serious book?

"You were reading Amazing Exceptions, weren't you, Hot Rod?" says Cliffjumper. "For your book club."

"Yes!" I say in relief. "Yes, that's right—"

And then I stop abruptly as I meet Optimus Prime's gaze.

Frag.

Inside my helm, my own voice from the shuttle is babbling away innocently.

...just skimmed the back of the pad and pretended I'd read it…

"Amazing Exceptions," says Optimus Prime thoughtfully. "What did you think of it, Hot Rod?"

I don't believe he asked me that.

For a few breems I can't speak.

"Well!" I clear my intakes at alast. "I thought it…it was really…extremely…"

"It's a wonderful book," says Cliffjumper earnestly. "Once you fully understand the symbolism…"

Shut up, you stupid show-off. Oh, Primus. What am I going to say?

"I thought it really…resonated," I say.

"What resonated?" says Springer puzzled.

"The, um…" I clear my intakes. "The resonances."

"The resonances…resonated?" says Cliffjumper.

"Yes," I say defiantly. "They did. Anyway, I've got to get on with my work." I turn away with a roll of my eyes and start typing feverishly.

Ok. So the book discussion didn't go that well. But that was just sheer bad luck. Think positive. I can still do this. I can still impress him—

"I just don't know what's wrong with it!" Cliffjumper is saying in a femmily voice. "I water it every day…"

He pokes his organic spider plant. "Do you know anything about plants, Optimus?"

"I don't, I'm afraid," says Optimus, and looks over at me, his face deadpan. "What do you think could be wrong with it, Hot Rod?"

...sometimes, when I'm pissed off with Cliffjumper…

"I…I have no idea," I say at last, and carry on typing, my face flaming.

Never mind. It doesn't matter. So I watered one little plant with energon. It's still alive, isn't it?

"Has anyone seen my Cyberton Cup mug?" says Sentinel, walking into the office with a frown. "I can't seem to find it anywhere."

I broke my boss's mug last cycle and hid the pieces in my subspace…

Frag.

Never mind. So I broke one tiny mug, too. Just keep typing—

"Hey, Optimus," says Springer in a matey, mechs-together voice. "just in case you don't think we have any fun, look up there!" He nods toward the photocopied picture of someone's housing cover that has been up on the notice board since Primus Day. "We still don't know who it is…"

I had a few too many drinks at the last Primus Day party…

Now I want to die. Someone, please kill me—

"Hi, Hot Rod!" comes Bluestreak's voice, and I look up to see him hurrying into the office, his face pink with excitement. When he sees Optimus Prime, he stops dead. "Oh!"

"It's all right. I'm simply a cyberfly on the wall." He waves an easy hand at him. "Go ahead. Say whatever you were going to say."

"Hi, Bluestreak!" I manage. "What is it?"

As soon as I say his name, Optimus Prime raises his helm, looking animated.

What did I tell him about Bluestreak? What? My processor spools furiously back. What did I say? What did I—

Suddenly I remember.

we have this secret code where he comes in and says, "Can I go through some numbers with you, Hot Rod?" and it really means "Shall we nip out to StarBrights…"

I told him out skiving code.

I focus desperately on Bluestreak's eager face, trying somehow to convey the message to him.

Do not say it. Do not say you want to go over some numbers with me.

But he's completely oblivious.

"I just, erm…" He clears his intakes in a businesslike way and glances self-consciously at Optimus Prime, who has strolled over towards my desk. "Could I possibly go over some numbers with you, Hot Rod?"

Frag.

I can feel my face flooding with color. My whole body is prickling.

"You know," I say in a bright, artificial voice, "I'm not sure that'll be possible today."

Bluestreak looks instantly crestfallen. "But I have to…I really need you to go over some numbers with me." He nods in consternation.

There's obviously something on his mind. But what am I supposed to do?

"I'm quite tied up here with my work, Bluestreak!" I force a smile, simultaneously trying to telegraph 'Shut up!'

"It won't take long! Just quickly."

"I really don't think so."

Bluestreak is practically hopping form foot to foot. "But, Hot Rod, they're very…important numbers. I really need to…to tell you about them…"

"Hot Rod." At Optimus Prime's voice I jump as though I've been stung. He leans toward me confidentially. "Maybe you should go over the numbers."

For a few moments I can't quite speak.

"Right," I manage after a long pause. "Ok, I'll do that."


Thanks everyone for following this story and your reviews.

Only 2 more revised chapters to go then I will post a new one.

Thanks again,

OptimusPrime's Girlfriend