Chapter 9: Stages of Grief

Hub Capital Iacon, Cybertron
Earth date 12.07.2005

For the past twenty Earth hours the fighting had been going on. Autobot troops had descended from the moons Alpha and Beta and Decepticon defences, understaffed and unprepared, had not reacted fast enough. By the time the rulers of Cybertron got themselves into full combat readiness the Autobots had already managed to establish a beach head in their former capital city of Iacon. Ever since then they had fought block by block, street by street, inch by inch.

Optimus Prime had trusted command of this invasion to two of his most trusted subordinates and friends. One, Jazz, was one of the handpicked elite that had accompanied him on that long-ago flight on the Ark. These days Jazz was head of special operations, had commanded many a commando raid on Cybertron's surface, and now found himself leading a charge towards the old Council pavilion where the Decepticons had their local headquarters.

The other was Elita-One. To this day most Earthlings didn't quite understand why there were female Transformers, seeing as robots didn't reproduce sexually and therefore didn't need genders. Truth to tell the Autobots and Decepticons didn't quite understand it, either. The most widely-spread theory was that male and female characteristics had been introduced into their personality matrices purely for diversity. Whatever the reason, though, there were female Autobots and Elita-One was the leader of them.

Despite being an able warrior herself, Elita-One much preferred the command & control function in a battle such as this. Superior cooperation and coordination was one of the Autobots' main advantages over the Decepticons, who squabbled amongst each other as often as not. So she directed the battle from a relatively safe location and was in full possession of all tactical facts. The battle was going slow, but well. Soon Iacon would be theirs again.

An Autobot communicator had brought her the first message from Earth less than half an Earth hour ago. She knew the results of the battle. Knew who had lived and who had died. Knew that Optimus Prime was dead. Everyone present had waited for some sort of reaction from her. After all, she and Optimus had been lovers. And yes, intimate love was something that could happen between two cybernetic life forms, no matter how strange that might seem to the humans. So everyone had waited for Elita-One to somehow react to the loss of the 'bot she loved.

No reaction came. Elita simply thanked the communicator for the update and returned to directing the battle. Her face remained immobile, her movements remained certain, her tone remained unchanged. Even Jazz, a professional bar none, briefly faltered when the news reached him. Not so Elita. To most who watched her this was completely incomprehensible.

Not to those who knew her best, though. Chromia and Firestar, her closest friends and companions who had worked with her for millions of years, knew exactly what was happening. They had seen it before. Elita-One was first and foremost a leader. And right now there was a battle to lead, a victory to gain. She would allow nothing to interfere with that goal, not even the death of Optimus Prime.

And no one, neither Autobot nor Decepticon, would ever hear the terrible sobs of sorrow she wept deep inside her metallic frame.

Autobot City, Oregon, Earth
Earth date 13.07.2005

It was just past midnight when Magnus finally found a moment's peace. Too much had occupied his time ever since the first shot of the battle had been fired. Everything had happened so fast, so incredibly fast. This morning he had been in charge of Autobot City, a soldier leading other soldiers, but following the orders of his supreme commander.

Now he was the supreme commander. He was the Prime.

No, he shook his head, not the Prime. The others might call him that, he had heard them address him as Prime Magnus, but he knew that it wasn't true. He wasn't the Prime. He had always known that it wasn't his fate and today he had received the ultimate proof, even if no one but him had recognized it as such.

The Autobot Matrix was the stuff of legend. Few had ever seen it with their own optics, even fewer had seen the passing of it from one Prime to the next. Not even Kup to boast about it. Magnus was one of the few who could, though. It was not widely known among the ranks of the Autobots, but back in the days before the war, before Optimus Prime and Ultra Magnus, there had simply been Orion Pax and Magnus. Protoform brothers, closer than most, yet embarking on divergent paths.

Magnus had been there on the day Orion Pax had received the Matrix from Alpha Trion. He had seen the incredible transformation. Orion had been a tall, strong robot, but nowhere near as powerful as Optimus Prime. The general belief was that Alpha Trion had rebuilt him into his new, mightier form. Magnus knew better. It had been the Matrix itself. Once it chose a new Prime it rebuilt him, gave him the power to lead, to fight, to win.

When the Matrix had entered his chest compartment Magnus had felt nothing at all. No surge of power, no transformation, nothing. A small part of him argued that the Matrix might simply have judged him strong enough already. When Magnus had been rebuilt into Ultra Magnus his strength had been increased manifold. Maybe it was enough, no further enhancement necessary.

He knew better, though. The Matrix chose the Prime and by whatever criteria it used, Magnus had been found wanting. He wasn't the Prime, would never be the Prime. In a way, he mused, he was like Alpha Trion now. A keeper, a guardian, responsible for keeping it safe until the next Prime appeared.

"My time in the light is short," Optimus had said, just before he died. "Keep it safe, my brother. Our people's fate now rests in your hands."

"I'm not worthy," Magnus had answered, knowing it even then.

"Neither was I," had been the answer. "Trust in the Matrix, Magnus! When the hour is darkest it will light the way. And when the time comes an Autobot will rise from our ranks to take my place."

And then he had died.

"I will keep it safe," Magnus promised, putting a hand on his chest plate. "And I will keep our people safe until the new Prime appears. I promise, Optimus!"

In another part of Autobot City a young Autobot was lying in a CR chamber. His body was in a sorry state, but by morning he would be more or less back in shape. His damages, while severe, were far from unfixable. A new arm, some work on his chest plate, a healthy dose of Energon, and he'd be back to normal.

Usually Transformers who underwent repairs in the CR chamber put themselves into sleep mode, shutting down their higher cognitive functions to preserve energy and spare themselves the agony of invasive surgery. They were living beings, after all, and repairs along their nerve circuitry were every bit as excruciating to them as to organic beings.

Hot Rod had not shut down his higher functions. He remained fully aware. Every surge of pain, every single bit of agony was welcomed. And a single sentence echoed through his mind over and over again.

IT'S MY FAULT! IT'S MY FAULT! IT'S MY FAULT! IT'S MY FAULT!

"Me, Slag, not get what fuss is about."

Four of the Dinobots were walking outside the main fortress structure of Autobot City, taking in the devastation and keeping guard, just in case. Their sturdy frames had held up during the battle, their damages were minimal.

"Prime dead," Slug said. "Me, Sludge, think that what makes everyone sad."

Snarl said nothing, but his mood seemed to be even fouler than usual. Swoop was keeping his own council as well, the smallest of the Dinobots observing the world around him with sullen optics. Unlike most of the Dinobots he had actually liked Optimus Prime. His passing saddened him.

"Magnus new Prime now, no?" Slag asked. "Let's see if he any better. Me, Slag, not think so."

"Me, Sludge, think Grimlock should be leader. He real smart now. And much more stronger than Magnus."

"Where Grimlock, anyway?" asked Swoop. "Me, Swoop, not seen him since battle ended."

The answer was found mere minutes later when the four Dinobots turned a corner and found their wayward commander. Grimlock was in robot mode and crouched in a doorway that led into one of the city's many warehouses.

"Grimlock? Dinobots been looking for you. Where Grimlock been?"

No answer came forth. Slag, always the impatient sort, surged forward to demand an answer, but froze to a halt the moment his optics looked past Grimlock into the interior of the warehouse. The other Dinotobts followed and took in the same sight.

The warehouse space had been refashioned into a morgue. Shattered frames of fallen Autobot warriors were lined up on the cold, hard ground. Some were barely recognizable any longer, their shells melted into so much slag. Others seemed almost undamaged, yet their dull, grey colouring left little doubt as to their state.

The Dinobots in general did not much care for the other Autobots. If asked, they would say that the main reason they fought on their side instead of against them was that it was more fun to kill Decepticons. The death of Optimus Prime barely had any impact on any of them except Swoop and possibly Grimlock. There were two Autobots, though, whom the Dinobots held in high regard.

Two Autobots who were now lying here among the fallen.

"Wheeljack?" Slag whispered, disbelief in his voice.

"Ratchet," Swoop almost sobbed.

Grimlock still said nothing as he crouched in front of the two dead Autobots who had created him and his fellow Dinobots. His face did not carry expressions well and those who did not know him might have mistaken his unmoving posture for indifference.

This was very, very far from the truth. Even as his fellow Dinobots transformed into their beast modes and filled the night sky with keen, animal sounds of sorrow, Grimlock was keeping a tight grip on the red-hot fury that welled up inside him.

Wheeljack and Ratchet had created him. He had been told that he had existed before, back on Cybertron, and that his spark had somehow been preserved until he could be rebuilt on Earth. He remembered none of that. As far as he was concerned his life had begun on Earth at the hands of Wheeljack and Ratchet. They had made him, they had improved him, they had made him smart.

And whatever Decepticon was responsible for their deaths would die a thousand times over before he was finished with them.

Boomer entered the large chamber with the air of a student being summoned into the office of the principal. Ultra Magnus had once told her that, some day, Optimus Prime himself would summon her and reprimand her for her unruly behaviour and maybe she would listen to him if no one else. That had never happened and now it never would.

The body of the late Autobot Commander was respectfully barred up in a separate chamber. There would be a burial, but later. They would repair his frame for it, but later. The living had to come first. Optimus would have been the first to say so.

Only moments earlier she'd seen a group of humans leave, the Witwicky family along with some members of the EDC. They had paid their last respects. Spike Witwicky especially had been close with Optimus Prime and been saddened by his passing. The young one, Daniel, had wept the whole time.

Boomer, being one of the least-damaged denizens of Autobot City, had been on com duty until minutes ago when Blaster had come back online. Now he was taking over again and she was free to do whatever she liked, at least for a short time. No doubt they'd mobilize soon. The battle on Cybertron was ongoing and they would join it as soon as they could.

But not yet. Which left her free to do something she needed to do, even if she wasn't quite sure why.

"Hi, Optimus," she said, approaching the much larger Transformer slowly. "I ... I don't think we ever exchanged many words. Or any, really. You probably didn't even know who I was. That's okay! I'm sure Magnus could have told you a lot about me, none of it good."

She twiddled her thumbs, a nervous habit she had taken up from her human friends.

"Everyone always talked about you, you know? I mean, the others guys and me ... Springer, Hot Rod, Arcee, the gang ... we were all built after you disappeared from Cybertron. We only knew about you through the tales of the others, Kup's especially. I ... well, I always wondered what the big deal was with you, you know? I mean, if you'd really been such great and glorious warrior, why weren't the Decepticons defeated long before I was built? Why was the planet in such a sorry state?

"When I first saw you some years ago, right after I came to Earth, I ... well, I thought, man, what a let-down. He's just another 'bot. Sure, he's scrapped his share of Decepticons, but I could do the same if I had that kind of frame. Nothing special about it."

She put a hand on the dead shell in front of her.

"I ... I must admit, I still don't quite get why everyone thinks you were the best thing since Electrum. But ... it doesn't really matter. I can see it in the optics of the others. How much you meant to them. And maybe that's the main thing about being a leader. Not what you do, but what you get others to do. Maybe ... maybe during that whole dark time on Cybertron, four million Earth years of retreat, loss, and surrender, maybe the only reason we kept going was the way the old-timers always went on about you. You inspired them. And ... I guess you inspired us a bit, too."

Boomer half-turned to go, suddenly a bit self-conscious about her monologue. It would seriously ruin her image if anyone overheard her here.

"I ... I should go. We'll be heading home real soon. Jazz and Elita-One are kicking serious skidplate in Iacon and we'll join them. I'm sure quite a few of us will want to put in some extra effort ... you know, in your memory and all."

She looked into his darkened optics and nodded.

"I think I get it now, Optimus. And I'll do my best. I promise!"

Then she left to prepare for battle.

End Chapter 9