Silent Scream

by T.L. Arens

G1. Sequal to 'Devil's Dance'. Autobot city slowly recovers from damage and death. Optimus and Rodimus struggle against depression, unknowing another enemy preys on what's left of their sanity.

5. Chapter 5

TRANSFORMERS: Silent Scream

Chapter 5

A grey wet afternoon clouded the sky above Douglas County. The sullen sky matched Roddi's brooding mood and strangely enough, Roddi was grateful for the sunless day. Worry and fear ate him up and threatened to stir the anger that presently lay in remission status.

The one bit of comfort Roddi held at the moment was the time in which he requested a private meeting with Ambassador Cleprachaun. He purposefully set it within half an hour just to see if he could raise the Quint's ire. It pleased the mischievous Autobot leader no end to ruffle a few Quintesson feathers-so to speak. Rodimus knew he should bring someone else to the meeting; Magnus or Kup or Strike Back. If he lost his temper, most likely he'd lash out at the Quints and there would be no one to hold him back. Lashing out certainly was not the greatest tool for diplomacy. But sometimes it was the only thing the Quintessons respected. The plan wasn't necessarily a bad one; just not a good one.

The Autobot leader stewed and snarled to himself the entire length of the hallway. Roddi had no intentions of a holding a full-staffed board meeting. Nor did he plan to keep it civil. He wanted answers and by Primus, he was going to get them. What really ticked at Roddi's short fuse was that the kidnapping made no sense. Okay, so what if they were responsible for Optimus' disappearance, by whatever means. Where's the logic? And why would they bother with a few seeming insignificant Humans?

Rodimus could see why they'd take Rusti, not that the Quints had information about her (supposedly) but why Cody Greydon? He was just an ordinary kid from a single-parent home.

He stepped through the conference room double doors and found the Quintesson ambassador and his assistant waiting for him. Actually, they paid little or no attention to him. Their faces stared, but their attention remained directed in discussion over the rebuilding of Fort Max, droning in their creepy low-toned voices.

Rodimus stepped from the doorway as it hissed shut behind him. The two turned their faces to Greed; their expressions as impassioned and inexpressionate as always.

"Greetings, Rodimus Prime." Ambassador Cleprachaun's words seemed icier than usual.

Rodimus gave him the cold shoulder in response, optics turning from Cleprachaun to his assistant. They all looked alike. At least it was nice that their voices were not the same.

Rodimus actually considered being civil at first. A moment of weakness, his Viral Self sneered. And It judged the distance between the two Quintessons and their distance from him. The table stood between them. If Cleprachaun and his assistant were armed, it would most likely be their weapons lay safely in subspace. Their advantage was their tentacles and whatever plasma weapons they wielded. Roddi's advantage was that he himself was armed and knew the room's interior and where other weapons lay hidden in walls or under the floor.

Cleprachaun entangled a set of his tentacles, seeming more impatient by the moment. "I hope this conversation has an end to its means, Rodimus Prime. Your timing is undesired."

Roddi darkened his optics. "Alright, I'll cut the crap. Where is Optimus Prime and what do you want in exchange for his and the Humans' release?"

The Quintessons stared in disgust. The assistant switched to his face of Deceit, tentacles flaying, "This allegation is intolerable! What proof-"

"Don't patronize me!" Rodimus shouted with a pound into the metal table. "I am NOT in the mood! And if you keep SCREWING around with me, you'll be in so many pieces they'll have to find your parts with a macro-electronic microscope. Do I make myself clear!"

The assistant growled. "Your words are meaningless to us, Autobot. In light of the Project, even our lives are expendable."

Count to ten. No, screw ten. Count to fifty. Rodimus stared at the cold silvery surface of the conference table. He noticed he was taking in extra oxygen to keep his systems cool. Not a great sign. Okay, they were just words, right? Don't have to take them seriously. Just words.

But that reasoning didn't work too well, either. And even after reaching the count of 300 in seven seconds, it took everything Rodimus had to keep from leaping over the table and ripping the Quint into fragments.

Try another approach. Rodimus lifted his chin, daring to stare them in the optics again. "What. Project."

Cleprachaun and his assistant glanced at each other before Cleprachaun decided to speak: "Conclusions have been assessed that other than the quark and the nactite, the single most powerful force in this reality is sentience. Once contained, it can be manipulated to expand, extend and constrict the fabric of reality itself, thereby accessing or sealing rifts. However, to contain and manipulate sentience, certain parameters must be set and frequencies obtained in pan-dimensional environments."

Through all the jargon, Rodimus caught two words: sentience and manipulation. He narrowed his optics in suspicion and dared a wild guess: "You're referring to the Matrix."

But the Quints refused to confirm.

Now they were trying to ruffle Roddi's feathers; and it didn't take much to do that. Still, the Autobot leader had some meager measure of self control, virus or not. but the temptation to blow in their faces was terrible. "What makes you think you can do whatever you please? You don't have that power, let alone the authority. Whatever you're attempting will backfire. Take my word for it. The Matrix will not tolerate tampering of any kind."

Cleprachaun switched to Face of Death while his assistant swiveled to the Face of Vengeance: "We do not need to explain or justify ourselves to you." They answered in chorus.

That rubbed Roddi the wrong way and he leaned toward them just slightly. "How about a viral-infected Matrix? Or did your intelligence conveniently forget to mention that?"

"The conditions were finally perfect." Ambassador Cleprachaun concurred. "It might surprise you to know that it took twenty-five point nine earth years and three hundred seventy-one telepaths to mentally break Optimus Prime. He has been quite a challenge. But in the end, we are still proven your superiors."

Rodimus felt every system in his body freeze as though in sudden stasis. "You're responsible for the Virus?" he almost could not say it.

The assistant lifted its face, looking rather smug. "His neural crash is the final result of several meticulous psychic assaults. The weakest point was his regret in the attempt to kill you, Rodimus Prime, on the mausoleum thirty-eight years ago. Ironically, the one person he considers his strength is his weakness."

Cleprachaun's tentacles snapped about his floating torso-less body. Rodimus just realized how badly the two Quints stank. But the shocking truth of the situation kept him immobilized for a moment longer. Cleprachaun, however, was not finished gloating: "I'm certain the demise of the Autobot species will require little work, now that you have also suffered a neural crash. Consider it, Rodimus Prime: Upon your imminent suicide, the Autobots will seek leadership elsewhere. We know that without the leaders, the Transformers species is doomed, collapsing not unlike the termite or bee colonies here on Earth. Kill the leaders, the population falls into terminal despair and dies."

The words ate into Rodimus' heart like a corrosive acid. He and Optimus Prime severely underestimated the Quintessons. Now everyone would pay for the oversight and ignorance. But Rodimus could not swallow the idea that the Autobots would fall to extinction once he and Optimus died. The Autobots had been without a Prime before and they survived. "You're both liars," he snarled.

"Incorrect assumption." Cleprachaun returned softly. "You are simply merchandise. The Autobots and the Decepticons might have . . . evolved over the megania, but you are still simply machines. You still follow basic program instructions. At this point, all your corrupted files have led your kind to believe you have the right to live out a sentient life. But in actuality, you are all living a lie. It is time to reformat and reprogram."

The words kept hurting. No! The Quintessons were wrong, they HAD to be! All life forms that had a physical form were machines of one kind or another. Even Humans were machines of a sort. Rodimus again pounded the table. "We are life forms!"

"Irrelevant." the Ambassador passed off. "You are still our merchandise; ours to do with as we please."

"No!" Rodimus thought he was going to explode. Then it occurred to him: the argument was more a diversion. They had cleverly driven him off the reason he demanded a meeting. He wanted to tear them apart, face by face, one tentacle at a time and the table was the only thing that kept him at bay. Back to the original subject! "WHERE. IS. OPTIMUS PRIME?"

The Assistant switched to his Face of Hate and Rodimus liked it less than Death. Its pointy little chin and horns atop its head resembled a devil. "Perhaps it would encourage you to learn how we appreciated the Autobots over the Decepticons. When we controlled Cybertron, the Autobots-"

"SHUT UP!" Rodimus exploded. "There were no Autobots and Decepticons when the Quintessons ruled Cybertron and you're a fucking liar!"

Both Quints sighed. Cleprachaun folded one set of tentacles. "Rodimus Prime, there is no need to stoop to expletives. We can understand your agitation-"

Roddi took one breath, "Where is Optimus Prime?"

"-As for the history lesson, we concur your correction. But my intention was-"

"Where is Optimus Prime?" Rodimus' voice fell dangerously quiet.

"-to use the names in reference. So that the two of us understood one another. Your tantrum will accomplish nothing."

"Where. Is. Optimus Prime?"

"Irrelevant."

Wrong answer.

Rodimus did not even remember leaping over the table. He moved so fast, Cleprachaun's assistant had no time to reach for his weapon. He managed to keep the mad Autobot at bay long enough to reach into subspace for his gun. Rodimus ducked as the wall and the floor under it melted. The Quint fired again, still missing the Autobot. Rodimus dodged, rolled, produced his rifle and blew the alien. Blood and mech fluids splattered the wall, the floor, the table and sprayed the Autobot's feet. Rodimus coldly stepped over the carcass and trained his weapon on Cleprachaun.

"I have not slept one peaceful night in four months. The only thing that's keeping me from killing you is information. You can give it to me now, or as I tear you apart, one face, one tentacle, at a time. And don't think I won't do it. Optimus has always played the nice guy. But his policies aren't MY policies. Understand?"

Cleprachaun neither moved or spoke. Rodimus' optics flared bright with barely controlled rage. The Virus affected Prime more than Cleprachaun or other members of the Continuum calculated.

The Quint glanced all around the room. The windows were transparent titanium: 'assassin-resistant glass.' Short of using a star bomb, there was no way out of the room except the doorway.

But there was the table. He slipped under the table and shot the doors, creating his escape route. Rodimus chased after, thinking of every vile word he knew. He tracked the Quint down the stair way, across the fourth floor and into the elevator. The Quintesson moved with good speed and managed to break free of the building, pushing and shoving anyone in his way. He floated across the courtyard, down the five steps and around the fountain. Prime pounded after him like a mad dog.

Humans, aliens and Autobots alike made way as the Quint ran screaming, demanding safety and refuge. He rounded Central Command toward the same fountain he and Ambassador Koontah attended not many days ago. He did not see a green Autobot dip from the sky, changing from helicopter mode to robot until the Autobot was directly in his path. Cleprachaun slammed into Springer and bounced off the wrecker.

Springer drew his sword, his blue optics cool.

Rodimus leapt forward and grabbed the alien by the tentacles. Cleprachaun squealed in sheer terror as Ultra Magnus, revved at high speed, transformed and skidded along the metal flooring, showering sparks. He too drew his weapon and held it at the Quintesson. Kup dashed up behind Rodimus but did not draw his gun.

Rodimus ambled to his feet, a bit shaken by the frantic chase. He felt better, now, a little clearer. "Alright," he growled, changing the setting on his weapon. "Spill it, or you'll meet your friend in whatever afterlife Quintessons believe in."

"He's raving mad!" Cleprachaun cried. "Are you all going to just stand there and let him torment me like this? We had a truce!"

Magnus set his face hard. "That was before Ambassador Koontah warned us you Quintessons were using psychokinetics to attack the city. Any attack on Fortress Maximus and its citizens is considered a breach of trust."

Kup dared a step forward, but did not move past Rodimus. "I suggest you do exactly what Rodimus Prime demands, Ambassador. He's a walking time bomb."

"Optimus Prime." Roddi did not think he needed to say anything more. With a bit of luck, the ambassador would cooperate this time; no one would stand between the Quintesson and an enraged Autobot leader.

The Quint turned its Face of Greed to Rodimus, but it said nothing.

Springer poked Cleprachaun with the tip of his sword. "Answer his question."

The ambassador winced and his tentacles limped about his floating form. "The Ellipsis," he finally answered. "They're on the Ellipsis. But you'll never get there. It's four light years away."

Rodimus felt torn between rage and despair. How was that possible? Even using Gate 09-A or Gate 37-27G, a journey that far away was nearly inconceivable if Rodimus wanted to get there in time. Beta Centauri had their own gates but could not be used without explicit permission from authorities. And the gate nearby Alpha Centauri was damaged.

But if the Quints had a base out there in the dark matter clouds of Alpha Centauri, chances were, they had developed new and dangerous technologies of inter-space travel.

Cleprachaun watched every Autobot around him. Rodimus had relaxed just minutely. Magnus was ready to fire, in fact, his finger pressed against the trigger just enough so that the weapon could fire on its own at any second. Springer, too, relaxed just the slightest. Kup looked away for a split second, but it was enough. The Quintesson produced a small but powerful hand laser. He shot Springer and Magnus, first, which caused Kup to overreact and as Cleprachaun dodged Springer's sword, he slapped Kup off his feet and lunged for Rodimus.

Rodimus fired his weapon, but the shot went wide and Cleprachaun's tentacles completely wrapped around the Autobot leader. Rodimus struggled uselessly.

Magnus leapt, reaching for the ambassador's Face of Deceit but a dimensional door whooshed open and the Quint and his prisoner disappeared in a burst of light.

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Rusti awoke sore and exhausted. Her troubled dreams were wrought with unfamiliar faces and frightening sounds. Her head pounded so that her eyesight came in lighted or darkened blurs. Her hair hung limp, soaked cold and her clothes were torn in several places; including her undergarments. She never felt either more miserable or dirtier. Rusti longed for a warm bath and her soft snugly bed. Sleep called but the migraine and the freezing hard floor refused her comfort of any sort.

Rusti struggled to sit up, finding her aching head swimming with the effort. She probably should not move, but the floor was just too cold and hard. Her aching muscles complained and her skin hurt in many areas. What the heck did she do to have so much pain? She struggled to think of an exercise or maybe a fight, even an afternoon of Dinobot football. But nothing came to memory.

Where was she, anyway?

"Rus?" That was Cody's voice quietly calling through the darkness. "Izzat You?"

"Yeah." There was that mousy voice of hers again. She sounded as frightened and unwell as she felt. "I fell asleep, hu?"

"They took you some time ago. I've been here waiting for you to come back. I figured you were unconscious. I tried to wake you a couple of times."

"Took me?" she echoed. "What do you mean?" Fear gripped her and one memory connected to another; faces and sounds . . . instruments.

Pause. "Nothin'. You okay?"

Instruments and questions. Monitors and needles too large for her body. Rusti started to panic. They tore her clothes and stabbed her with things . . . "No! No!" she shook her hands as if they were covered with something unholy and the girl hid her eyes as fear and panic threw her into emotional overload. Rusti wanted to bow over and cry, but the migraine was such that she simply could not move. She wept, feeling as helpless as the day she was on a city bus attacked by a war cult. Inwardly she screamed for help, but her sobs were such that she could not vocalize.

A hand touched her leg. It was warmer than the floor and no larger than her own hands. Kind warm arms surrounded her.

"Help!" her mousy voice only came as a whisper. Cody gently wrapped his arms about her and held her close to his chest. His warmth smelled of autumn rain and salty ocean air. His heart beat strongly. Rusti could not stop trembling. His voice filled the silence and she loved its familiar tones. But she was too distraught to answer.

Her heavy eyes lifted in the dark, perceiving only the bleakest of light seeping into the cell. Optimus was here. Weakly Rusti's fingers touched her breastbone as sadness assailed her fears. She thought he had betrayed her, when it was she who betrayed him, his faithfulness. What a stupid, over-reactive girl! Tears made her head hurt more but she could not keep them back. Shame made her feel worse and rather than snuggle into her bed, Rusti just wanted to crawl into a corner and hide her face.

Worst yet, and more confusing still, Cody was here, taking care of her as best he could. How cruel and thoughtless she was for thinking of Optimus Prime, feeling so remorseful and frightened for him when Cody was living the moment, keeping her warm. Rusti sniffed, wishing for a tissue, damning the moment and herself for the situation. She closed her eyes and tried to let her mind and body rest.

"Do you need to lie down, Rusti?"

Rusti's eyes fluttered open and she managed to lift her head some. "What?" another pitiful whisper.

"I could lay down you could sleep on my shoulder for a while. It's not much, but might be warmer than the floor."

She did not really want to move and would have said so when it occurred to her that it was his way of saying he needed to lie down. Rusti found his hands, now wet and cold. "Um, okay," she accepted. She sat up and the world turned upside down and her stomach almost went with it. She heard Cody move around and for some reason, she expected to find Optimus there with them. But he was not. She swallowed hard, hurting for him.

Cody found her hand and whispered something incoherent. Rusti felt as though she were taking advantage of his kindness and reluctantly laid her head on his shoulder. She hurt for him as his arm rounded her back and rested on her upper arm. Lying down did reduce the throbbing headache. Perhaps the migraine could be slept off. Rusti came within seconds of blissful sleep when Cody's voice sounded soft in the air, calling to her.

"Rus?"

"Hmm?"

"You know geeky Mr. Walters in Trig?"

"Hmm, hmm."

"Been thinking 'bout the old fart. He needs a good practical joke. Just one. Cuz, you know, he's such a stiff. I'll bet he feeds his kids differentials for breakfast."

Rusti puzzled over the proposal, not quite catching the rest of Cody's humor. ". . . a joke?" she finally stopped feeling stupid about her weakened voice. Cody didn't seem to mind, anyway.

"Well, you know, something that everyone can appreciate." Cody Greydon thought hard for a moment and Rusti almost fell to sleep again when his voice filtered back through her dream and brought her back to the moment. "How about those stupid tunes he plays in the background?"

"His Mozart music?"

"Yeah. It'd be a riot if someone could secretly replace it with Metallica, or something."

A smile crossed her lips. Metallica was a group as old as her grandfather and as loud as Blaster's favorite tunes, if not worse. "You're an evil genius." she teased weakly. "Thing of it is, Mr. Walters uses an ancient cassette tape medium. Unless I can find someone who has some old stuff, I dunno if that can be switched." She thought about it a moment longer then realized the answer was already mentioned. "I guess I could talk Steeljaw into helping out. He's got a thing or two for practical jokes. And better yet, he won't tell anybody."

"Rus . . . I have to ask something."

"Okay." She really just wanted to sleep.

"You were there when Optimus and Rodimus were fighting, or rather stopped fighting. What happened? Can you tell me? Do you remember? Was it really you who stopped the two from killing each other?"

Thinking hurt because she wanted to sleep so badly. "I Dunno." her words came slurred, clumsy. She thought hard, struggling to reform pictures of a blurred and ancient memory. "There was the bridge. I remember the clouds were so brown and grey." Rusti struggled against cold memory and amnesia to bring back feelings and moments when she ran from her Aunt Missy who tried to take her out of Fort Max.

Roller.

Autobot River.

And back to the city.

Dark shape . . . Faceless Darkness. Sleep.

"Have you ever walked in your sleep, Cody?"

Now it was his turn to contemplate in silence. "Maybe. I don't remember."

"It's like living in a dream. Have you ever had a dream so vivid it's like it was for real?"

"No. Not really."

"It's spooky. You can see and hear everything, you can smell and feel the clothes on your body. You can feel the air on your skin and when you wake up, you're freaked because the waking is the dream." Rusti sniffed and her face felt colder. Her fingers rubbed an itchy spot on her nose and found blood. Discretely, she wiped it with what was left of her shirt sleeve.

"So, you basically sleep-walked and found yourself waking to something you didn't see or expect?" Cody paused for a beat then added: "as if something else was controlling you?"

"Yes!" Rusti was excited that Cody pieced something with words that she herself could not put together. It was exciting, too, because another memory came to the surface. "I heard Music, Cody. It was . . . well, I can't describe it. But it was like a living thing, if you know what I mean. It was like sound, but more like the sound was alive, breathing, thinking. I was attracted to it, as though it was something I wanted to hold and keep. Kinda weird, I know."

"Why is it weird?"

"Cuz. I'm the only one who knows anything about it. And no one else would understand." She too paused a moment, "except you. You believe me."

"I believe you, Rusti, because you're dealing with life on a whole different level. You have contact. And whether you want to face up to it or not, you have a relationship with an alien intelligence. That's far from weird. It's magnificent."

Rusti never realize she never thought of the Matrix as an alien intelligence. But she supposed that it was and seeing it from that point of view, it didn't seem all that bad . . . or weird. "I guess so," she answered softly. She wanted to talk about it more with Cody, but sleep would not let her alone anymore. His lips carefully touched her forehead and he embraced her gently as Rusti fell unconscious.

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Sudden and intense light painfully overloaded his optic sensory. Rodimus shied from it, falling to his knees, and covering his face. The reset clicks and high-pitched tones of several activated laser rifles told him he was surrounded. Rodimus slowly lowered his hands, his optics struggled to adjust to photonic shock. Through the blurred brightness, he made out the shapes of several Quintesson lords and their 'lovable' sharkticon guards.

"Rodimus Prime. This is an unpleasant inconvenience."

Roddi cautiously stood, keeping his hand units in plain view. "Deliberata." he greeted. "Not so nice to see you again, too. I hope you've bathed since your trip from Goo."

Deliberata switched to the Face of Hate. "Inconsequential. At this time, we are nearly prepared for the final phase of the Project. All things: time, resources and, if necessary, our lives, are concentrated on its success. Neither you, Optimus Prime, any of the Autobots OR Ambassador Koontah will intervene at this point."

Rodimus frowned then darkened his optics, "you'll excuse me if I don't do back flips in excitement. I think you should be aware that one way or another, Ultra Magnus will find his way here. He might make a mess of Cleprachaun's other assistants to do it-"

Cleprachaun snorted behind him, "The outrageous irrationality of your obsessive actions will not hinder us from accomplishing the task, Rodimus Prime."

Roddi turned and gave the Quintesson ambassador a chilling smile. "All the more to annoy you with, my dear, said the wolf to Red Riding Hood."

Celprachaun scooted back a few daring feet. "The Virus has possessed him to the point of erratic instability. Maubdual Om Onatha has seriously erred in his calculations and time frames. I suggest a re-triangulation in-"

"SHUT UP!" Roddi snapped and would have torn into the yammering Quintesson had not two sharkticons blocked his path like a pair of jumbo-sized football players. He bounced back, landing lightly on the floor but jumped right back to his feet, ready for a fight.

"Enough!" Deliberata raised the power on his weapon. "Cooperate with us, or die."

Wrong thing to say.

Rodimus yanked the laser rifle from the Quintesson standing beside him, kicked the tri-rifle out of Deliberata's tentacle and fired at Deliberata injuring his Face of Deceit.

The two 'football' sharkticons transformed. One swung his tail at Rodimus, the other tried to make lunch of his whole right side. Rodimus leapt to dodge the tail and jammed the rifle in the other 'con's mouth.

Deliberata, his body sweating, smoldering and smelling awful, switched to his Face of Death as he struggled to regain his dignity. "SHARKTICONS!" he screeched at the top of his voice, "ELIMINATE HIM!"

Roddi bounded around the other confused Quintessons and was glad they made way for his escape. Perhaps it was because they were confident their clumsy, oversized 'goldfish' were capable of doing the dirty work.

Rodimus easily transformed in mid-flight. He raced through the corridor, looking for turns or sharp corners. Not for half a mile did one appear. He made a right turn and found himself facing a dead end.

Rodimus searched the walls. They were smooth and rounded with no indication of a door or a control panel of any sort. He examined the floor for clues to a trap door, but again, the floor lay smooth and seamless.

"Okay, Mr. Brilliant," Roddi told himself, "better find an exit stage right and fast." He raised his optics but found the ceiling just as flawless. "No way," he snarled. "This is a right-turn. There HAS to be something here, even if it's just to eject something to outer space." The Autobot leader backtracked his steps several yards, searching for the elusive seams, doors or operational panels. Unless this part of the station was poured, there had to be something controlling the walls. But now his optics picked up the familiar crushing march of the two sharkticons. The stupid things might be slow mentally and physically, but they were persistent and closing in.

Think, think, think! Rodimus searched again.

Oh! The lights! His optics followed the light panels lining either side of the corridor. There was one seam. There's the second . . . and not far away was the hairline of a third. Tricky little buggers, those Quints. Roddi studied the third, his finger lined the filament of a line. He wold be lucky to slide a razor blade between the two halves.

But Roddi didn't have a razor blade. His own laser blaster would have to do the job. He hauled it out of subspace as the tromping sharkticon duet closed in. He set the power to low; he wanted to open a control panel, not blow the whole place to the Pitt.

The laser beam was of low intensity and cutting proved slow at best. Rodimus was far from patient and allowed the beam to cut about two yards down. He switched frequencies and using short bursts, punctured into the wall from the hairline so that he could easily peel back that portion of the wall.

The twin sharkticon guards found him at last, their rounded bodies stomped the floor as they advanced, weapons drawn.

Roddi peeled the hot, newly-cut panel back and searched blindly about, hoping to find conjunction slips or a transforming cog of any kind.

Just as he was about to give up and prepare to fight the two bumbling bozos, his hand found a conjunction slip. Rodimus yanked it upward, hoping it would changed the hallway configuration, but kept his own weapon ready.

His guess work was well rewarded but the conjunction slips did not work quite the way he hoped.

Rather than opening the wall to other corridors, the right-turn hall split floor from wall from ceiling and slid under itself, widening the area into a room. A new ceiling descended from another level in the station and two new walls came down with it. Rodimus dashed to avoid being crushed and escape his hunters.

One sharkticon proved less brighter than the other. Without a glance to its partner, the 'brightless one' charged after Rodimus. He did not, however, calculate the amount of time he had between reaching Roddi and when the double walls touched the floor.

There was only a nasty crunch as metal and fluids squished under the crushing weight of the station's transformation.

Rodimus did not bother to look back. As soon as he could, he transformed to auto mode and took off, speeding through the room and out the large entryway. Without a doubt the Quintessons would be less than pleased that their pets failed to retrieve their prey. It meant, of course, that the Quints would find something else to eliminate the 'vermin' in their station.

Rodimus hit the three-mile mark before realizing he didn't know where he was. He scanned for signs, boards or other markings indicating his whereabouts. His scanners ran across the gridwork on the ceiling above. There lay a jeffries tube above the lighting. It was also large enough for him to crawl through. And since there was a jeffries tube here, chances were there had to be tubes all over the space station.

Rodimus transformed and leapt high enough to grasp the metal grids between the lights. He struggled to tear off a bar but when mere strength failed, he used his arm weapons, blasting a nice sized hole. The Quints were bound to know his exact location, now. But Rodimus could not bother with that at the moment.

Dangling fifteen feet from the floor, he ripped through soft metals and some wiring. Power conduits ran to and fro and Rodimus did not want to damage those; that action could blow the whole station.

He found parallel support beams and lifted himself into the tube without disturbing the conduits. Nice job, he told himself.

So! Which way? Left, right or back down? Roddi glanced left then right and thought about tossing a coin, if he had one. Finally, he decided right because there seemed to be more light from the power conduits in that direction. He crawled several yards before encountering a fork in the path. Rodimus groaned. Bad time for this kind of gag. He half-sat hunched on his knees for several moments, struggling to decide.

Maybe it was a better idea to head back and go the other direction.

He tried to mash his form so that he could turn around. It was, after all, not so good to travel blindly in an unfamiliar place. But Rodimus simply did not have enough room to turn. It was ether move forward and see where he was going, or crawl backwards to the point of entry.

Or he could use the space between the two adjacent tubes to turn around. Three choices were better than two. Rodimus started right, then turned half way and squeezed around. There! Now he had line-of-sight. But for some reason, the power conduits looked funny, as though they were turned off in some places, mislinked in others. And in dead space floated several other lights; five, to be exact. What was he looking at? Roddi got the surges. He was suddenly aware of one long mechanical leg touching the metal panels about a yard or two ahead of a large body. An antennae flickered out, bouncing silver, reflecting the conduits' soft blue glow.

If it were an insecticon, it was like nothing Roddi had seen. And he hated bugs.

The creepy thing skittered closer on six legs, sniffing blindly. Its head resembled a long prism-like structure with a triangular face. The eyes studded its forehead dead center and its mouth narrowed down to a beak, jagged and serrated for puncturing and sawing.

Optical contact. The nasty thing screeched at Rodimus and from the sides of its black head a pair of sharp pincers sprang. They snapped, igniting a short electric spark.

One bound and the beast landed mere feet from him. Rodimus crawled as quickly as he could, but the bug had the advantage; it was on its feet. And to prove it meant business, it zapped his foot twice with its pincers. Rodimus shook with a sharp jolt of electricity, yelping once. He crawled faster but knew he was no match for this thing. Chances were, it was programmed to play with its prey before ending the pursuit in death.

Rodimus either had to find a way to block the thing from him, or leave the jeffries tube entirely. The tube descended for several yards before rising again. It turned left then led him straight for a while. Buggy behind him stalked after on its six prickly legs.

Again the tube split into two more tubes; straight and left. Hurry up and decide, he told himself.

How about down, instead? Rodimus scampered forward, crawling as fast as he could. Apparently the bug could not see him well. It stopped and sniffed several times before proceeding. That was good because he needed time to cut through the metal. He started from the left and slowly cut to the right, listening as hard as he could. If the bug attacked before he was done, Rodimus would have to figure a way to defend himself while cutting out an escape route. Naturally he could keep crawling around until he and Mister Bug found a way out, but chances were, it'd be in a room filled with Quintessons and/or their sharkticon pets.

Half way done!

Out the corner of his optics, Rodimus thought he saw the wall move. Keeping his weapon very still for a moment, he examined the wall more closely and to his surprise, his optics weren't lying. The walls' molecules were reorganizing themselves. He touched the wall and the surface rippled like water. He gasped, shocked. What was happening to the station?

The bug's feet stamped and it hissed at him.

"Damn!" he growled. Rodimus was too close to finishing to fail like this. He could not turn around, so he reached behind his head and fired blindly at the bug. It screeched loudly, its body flaying and scraping against the metal and carelessly snapped a few wires and broke exposed circuitry, also breaking a conjunction slip. Rodimus cussed again and raised the power on his rifle. Most of the metal was cut, anyway. He used the pulse and blew the rest of the new door away, carefully shielding his face from flying debris. From subspace, he produced the tri-rifle and quickly set it to overload.

He slid the tri-rifle under him toward the beast and jumped heedlessly. He fell at least four floors.

None too soon.

The gun exploded and gasses, debris and plasma fire chased Rodimus all the way down. He landed hard on his back. It took him three point two seconds before coming to, just as the insecticon spiraled after, out of control and shrieking mad. Rodimus leapt to and ran as fast as he could, hoping the beast would be knocked senseless long enough for him to find an escape route. He took a left turn, only to find himself cornered by a standard security grid gate.

With an agitated growl, Rodimus blew the grid, fully aware he set off a series of security station-wide alarms. He tripped through the damaged grid gate, falling half a floor and landed hard on his knees. The beast screeched as it struggled to squeeze its way through the entryway. Sparks flew as it rubbed its metallic body against the metal door frames. Rodimus swung around and fired at the beast's optic sensors, enraging it more than ever. At least it was distracted enough to allow him just a little more time.

He landed in what looked like a foyer, richly carpeted and complete with windows facing outer space. One set of doors stood to his right, the other straight ahead. He scanned one set, finding the area behind them cold. The other set seemed more obvious as far as an exit was concerned. Rodimus tried that route and was rewarded with an adjoining corridor.

He transformed and sped away. He did not see or hear the bug free itself from the grid. It darted on its spindly legs, skittering with miraculous speed.

But the metallic bug could not overrun Rodimus in auto mode. It shot out a stream of white goo and caught the fleeing Autobot at the backside. Rodimus shifted into overdrive until he realized he was caught.

He transformed and rolled on his back, firing at the beast. No go. The six-legged freak dragged him closer, impatiently tapping its pincers. Sparks snapped as though in anticipation of a fresh kill.

Rodimus searched the corridor, desperate for something, anything to give him an advantage. But the smooth, blank walls offered nothing. He fired at the webbing holding his feet steadfast. The webbing started to disintegrate as the bug dragged him closer and closer. Now he was but a couple of precious yards from its pincers and that was when the last of the sticky webbing fell under his lasers. Rodimus scampered to and ran as fast as possible. But at the sound of a squeal, he knew the thing was nearly on top of him.

The next minute its weight came down on his shoulder struts. Roddi lost his balance and crashed face down. He half-turned and fired at its optics again before the beast's pincers could get around his waist. It screeched so that it nearly overloaded Roddi's audio sensors. The bug shook its head and sank its serrated jaws into his hip.

Rodimus screamed, wreathing in pain as acid slowly ate into his circuitry. He fired his arm blasters under the bug's chin, hoping the neckline was just as vulnerable as its optic sensors.

It shrieked again, released him and finally retreated.

Rodimus remained on the floor a few moments while automatic repair systems closed off damaged areas and rerouted power. He pulled himself against the wall, laying half on the floor. Pain flowed up his side and down his leg. Most likely the acid was also poisonous and Roddi wondered how much time he had. Apparently it was not too lethal; he would have been dead already.

He gave himself another moment to rest, knowing he was chancing it. A wounded animal, mechanical or organic, was more dangerous and chances were, the bug would come back for him again. His optics drifted close to shut down. A bit more rest would be nice. He almost dimmed them entirely when he found an airlock just a little ways to his right. Something like that was meant for docking ships. But it could also be used to exterminate really big roaches. But how was he supposed to get that thing in there and kick it off the station without going out with it?

Never mind, here it comes.

Rodimus limped to the airlock and activated it. The seal opened first, slowly. Then the first door. All he had to do was bait it enough to get it in. He stood in the doorway, waiting for it to attack.

His vision blurred.

Great. That's all he needed. And there was no antidote. His systems demanded a temporary shut down.

The insecticon came for him and Rodimus waited until it was nearly on top. He leapt for the door frame, his fingers latching securely to the ledge. He kicked it in the face so that it landed against the far side of the wall. It rebounded, determined to have itself a 'Roddi ala shish kabob'. Rodimus swung through the air, landing a bit clumsily behind it and with his remaining strength, shoved the oversized gnat into the airlock, closed the door and hit 'eject'.

With a 'swish', the station expectorated the bug into space. Rodimus slid down the wall in relief and involuntarily shut down.

---------------------------------------

"Is the soup the wrong flavor?"

"No." She dipped the spoon and let the excess run off. But she did not eat it.

There came an uneasy silence and Prime heard noises from the kitchen and from other tables in the cafeteria as people came and left or quietly conversed over their meals. He settled on the floor, legs crossed. Rusti just stared at the soup. Shock did strange things to people. "Did you want me to blow on it?" he offered.

A smile broke across her otherwise sad little face. Her smiles were precious things, bright little moments like a candle lighting a dark room. She lit the darkness in his own soul.

"Retain the data as specified by the Gantez report. Conclusions are not definite, but the preceding tests have proven that sufficient life force frequencies are capable of interacting with the electromagnetic fields. This leads to the possibility of using life force as a means of creating and maintaining a stabilized window. This in turn may be useful to our clients and allies."

"Agreed. While we cannot use the Eden stone itself, we can use its wielder as a conduit into its energies and direct them wherever we may choose. However, subjects Ganymede 34, Corvus 109, Gemini 40 and Canis 619 have failed several specific tests. Recommendations are to proceed according to schedule and investigate any possible miscalculations. The project requires we awaken the lifeless shells in order to reach the final phases of the plan."

More screams. Their voices reached the ceiling like flaming tongues of pain that flickered to life then died quickly. The victims of Quintesson cruelty pleaded and begged as their bodies were mutilated.

Optimus Prime watched as they hacked one alien female to pieces. But his own emotions were distant as though both reality and his dreams were naught but hallucinations induced by too much work and too little rest.

At the far end of the room, stood four robotic figures. These 'beasts' had no internals save for those devices required for movement. Their torsos contained no components. Their heads were empty save for a few devices Prime did not recognize.

The Quintessons constantly argued over the 'shells'. Their droning voices muttered in constant debate, crossing logic with logic and scientific data against their own theories and calculations.

For a while, they seemed to have forgotten the rest of the projects. Many of their test subjects died during the squabbling. Optimus thought it kind that death finally rescued some victims from the grip of their tormentors.

---------

The dragonfly shook its head at him and rolled its eyes. "It's all elementary. I don't understand why you find it so difficult. Think about it!"

Prime tried to consider it again. All those people died. Why did they die? Primus, why . . .

And maybe that was the answer. Primus never answered his prayers. Optimus prayed everyday for guidance and strength. But he was lost, abandoned in a desert of worthlessness.

"Honestly!" the dragonfly snorted, "do I have to explain it again?" The insect sighed and crossed its front legs while its broad iridescent winds vibrated in the soft summer breeze. "This is how it works; it's all about connections. I am connected to things, you are connected to things."

"Like the space station?"

"Well, I suppose, but not quite the same thing. Oh dear, you really are dense, aren't you? They can't corrupt the Matrix; it's a living thing, like you."

"But I can be reprogrammed into another person."

"No you can't."

"Yes I can. It's been done before."

"Trapped in dreams. Trapped in dreams. Do you plan to die like this?"

"Like how?"

"Trapped in dreams."

Wake up! His inner self demanded Optimus to activate his optics. He hoped to find himself in his quarters or the office, maybe resting across his desk, digipads scattered in every direction along the floor and around him. He hoped somehow to find a Babybird nestled in her corner, asleep on the bean bag, snug and content.

Everything changes and sometimes it changes more than he'd like to see. Even the children he once adopted long, long ago, grew too fast. His band of warriors changed as he lost and gained soldiers. Battles came and went, lost and won. Earth was another chapter in a life filled with victories and defeats. There was a time it might have been the last chapter.

But why had death not taken him permanently in 2005? Why did it not take him last fall? He and Rodimus had injured one another so badly, it made no sense that they both survived the fight.

Why was he still alive?

A streak of pale blue light zig-zagged along the wall. It was the fourth or fifth time Optimus noticed it since his arrival. He also noticed how the molecules on the floor and the walls seemed to jump around. Of course, it could all be a hallucination. The Quintessons were doing a good deal of injury to him and most likely it was damaging his sensors.

A pair of dark eyes opened in the middle of the metal wall just above the robotic shells. The eyes closed and part of the wall itself stretched out and fingers protruded from there, reaching for a single-faced Quintesson who worked on, unaware of the wall's creepy activity.

Prime tried to rest his optical sensors several times. He succeeded once while the Quintessons reassessed their arguments regarding the robotic shells. All remained normal and for a while, things fell to a lull as several Quintessons ceased activities while they rested. Their eyes remained opened, ever watchful of their surroundings but mostly unaware.

Fifteen to twenty minutes passed before the Quintesson scientists returned to their activities and turned their attention to Human subjects. They had acquired a small collection of both men and women. They dissected one of each, passing the remains through every test conceivable. They questioned the other prisoners, some of whom where less than cooperative. Then came more tests such as electromagnetic, electro-chemical and sensory. They ran brain wave pattern scans and radiation tests which resulted in the death of their subjects at every attempt. The final victim, a woman, cried until she died.

Optimus blamed himself for their agony. It was his fault this was happening. He was the one who invited the Quintessons to Earth for a truce-talk. He was the one who crashed the ship on Earth millions of years ago. Now everyone, Human and Autobot alike, paid for his idiocy.

The Quints brought in a new subject.

Cody Greydon.

Optimus Prime actually tried to break free to rescue Cody. But the Quintessons had him securely bolted in place. And he did not have his hands. He could not move, could not speak. He dimmed his weary optics in sorrow as the young man whimpered in pain. The freaks cut into him. They ran different tests on Cody than their other Human victims. Optimus caught words like 'perfection' and 'accurate DNA' when the Quints referred to Cody.

Prime's spark ached for Cody and he took in some measure of comfort when the Quints finally returned the boy to his cell.

Then they brought Rusti out.

Optimus wanted to scream and again struggled against his prison. All he could do was watch. They ran tests, inserted needles and scanned her until her hair and clothes were drenched in blood.

One Quintesson, monitoring a computer at a different table, shouted excitedly. The other Quints crowded about their colleague and the computer.

"Impossible!" one shouted. "How can this creature exist with readings such as this? Who is this female?"

"She is one that Nafateem ra dahl brought in with DNA subject Number Rak 2319. Nafateem did not wish to leave witnesses and she was brought along."

Cleprachaun came to the forefront of the group. "She is indeed. She is also Resonna Witwicky, granddaughter of Spike Witwicky. The family are closely associated with the Autobots. It might explain the associated anomalies. The Witwicky clan have been heavily influenced by the Autobots. It should be no wonder their readings are different from other Humans."

"That fails to explain her readings!" the first declared. "No Gamma wave life force? What of this reading here? It is clearly evident she is responding to us on a psychic level."

"Indeed she is, Ukam'nuthal." the Quint at the computer agreed, "this indicates a ninety-four point sixteen percent possibility she has responded to several psychic frequencies used to attack the Autobots over the last few weeks. Fortunately, her abilities are latent and therefore, she cannot direct them toward us. However, it may prove that Human physiology has changed over the decades."

"Agreed," Ukam'nuthal corresponded. "Their entire structure has shifted. Possibly due to the influence of the magnetic/electromagnetic energies produced by the Transformers. The soft radiation from Cybertonium might have an accumulative and accountable effect worthy of possible future studies."

Optimus tried to Reach for Rusti and assure her she was not alone. But the girl was unresponsive. Optimus grieved and regrettably admitted it would be better the both of them died.

The Quintessons continued their hypothesizing for two and a half hours before deciding to put Rusti back in her cell. At least they'd leave her alone for a while longer but they brought out several other Humans and subjected them to an array of cruel tests.

---------

The sound of cracking bones roused him from involuntary shut down. He activated his optics, wishing he had not. The Quintessons brought Cody Greydon back from his cell.

The boy was dead. Every molecule of Cody's body was extracted and processed until all that remained was the skeleton. But that too was crushed, mixed with fluids and carried into another room.

Optimus was so sick with grief, he hurt. How could he ever tell Rusti? He dimmed his optics, wishing with all his might he did not see what just took place. He had friends and allies who died on and off the battlefield. He saw friends die from torture. But most of them died for a cause. Most of them died fighting one way or another. Optimus also had friends that died during peacetime, from 'natural causes'. But it always hurt more to watch the innocent die at the hands of malevolence. Cody was of no threat to those sli'kikik. He had no special powers, used no great weapons and certainly had no secrets worth kidnapping and killing for. But the death of the innocent was one of evil's greatest trademarks.

The Quintessons continued their work. The death of one or many received the same unsympathetic treatment. Prime ceased guessing what they were trying to do. Cody's death delivered such an emotional shock that the Autobot lost mental and emotional energy. His body seemed more foreign to him than before as though his spark were alienated from it.

The universe fell silent as though in tribute to Cody's life. Then Prime realized his audio sensors were out. He debated as to whether or not it was worth the energy to reroute power to remedy the situation.

As he debated, he noticed a black and green dragon stretched across the closest table. That could not possibly be real. Prime struggled to reroute command codes to repair the problem. But no matter what combination he used, the mythical beast remained lounged on the table as if it owned the thing.

The real problem was that the dragon stared back. Its right forepaw supported its chin while black eyes glued themselves to the Autobot. A pair of large wings lay folded comfortably against the beast's sides and spikes lining the rim of its back caught the light above like the glinting blade of a knife. The dragon's long tail snaked in and out of sight.

Then it smiled at him. "YOU'RE NOT HALLUCINATING YOU KNOW. I REALLY AM HERE. THE WALKING CESSPOOLS CAN'T SEE OR HEAR ME. THAT'S PART OF THE JOKE."

Prime dimmed his optics in puzzlement. The creature talked without moving its mouth. And it was not talking out loud. And if it was indeed real, what was it doing on the station?

"AH. WELL, LET'S JUST SAY THAT SOMEONE HAS A WONDERFUL SENSE OF HUMOR. THE STATUES YOU SEE AGAINST THE FAR WALL WERE SUPPOSED TO COME TO LIFE. BUT UM, NOT EVERYTHING THE QUINTESSONS DO GOES THE WAY THEY INTEND." the dragon winked. "THEY'RE IN FOR A RATHER UNPLEASANT SURPRISE. BUT THAT IS NOT WHY I DECIDED TO SPEAK WITH YOU."

Optimus heard Rusti call for Cody. He would never be there for her again. She began to cry and Optimus desperately wanted to comfort her. He darkened his optics, defeated.

"SHE CRIES FOR YOU."

The dragon looked crossly at a Quint as the unsuspecting five-faced scientist approached the table. The scientist carefully balanced three trays loaded with flasks and beakers filled with fluids and tiny creatures therein. The dragon smiled, displaying double rows of sharp teeth and a set of longer fangs. He snapped his long tail in front of the Quint, tripping the scientist. The trays flew out of the Quint's grip and all the flasks shattered. Little fish and worm-like things slapped the metal floor, struggling for air and life.

It was Ukam'nuthal who admonished his comrade with several choice words and a death-threat at the next 'inopportune accident'.

The dragon sniggered quietly then cleared its throat. "WELL, CHEAP THRILLS COME INEXPENSIVELY." He watched the Quintessons as they and their assistants raced to save their experiments and cleaned the mess. "COME TO THINK OF IT, MY FRIEND," the dragon added, "I HAVE NOT INTRODUCE MYSELF." Here, he stared at Optimus Prime again, "I AM ELLIPSIS."

Cold surges shot through Prime's body. It was not possible! The station?

Ellipsis flickered his tail. A sense of pride glowed from the dragon's face. "IN CASE YOU ARE WONDERING, I AM INDEED A PRODUCT OF THE MATRIX. I SUSPECTED YOU WERE READY TO ABANDON THE LIFE GIVEN YOU AND I CONSIDERED ASKING WHY. I SHOULD LIKE TO DISCOURAGE SUCH NOTIONS. IT IS, OF COURSE, YOUR DECISION. I AM, HOWEVER, DELIGHTED TO SEE YOU ARE AWARE OF ME AND SOMEWHAT MORE AWARE OF YOUR SURROUNDINGS. YOU KEEP DRIFTING BETWEEN WORLDS. PERHAPS CONCERN FOR YOUR LITTLE FRIEND HAS BROUGHT YOU BACK TO THE PRESENT."

Prime struggled to remain focused. He had lost so much power that his mind drifted between reality and dreams. Ellipsis was real; that much was clear. But how were life energies, directed from the Matrix to the body shells, diverted to the space station instead? Perhaps the Quintessons miscalculated. It was not the first time they made a mistake. But Optimus wondered why they had not yet discovered their error.

And how was it that the station was able to communicate to him? Or was he merely imagining that, too? Was it that he was dying and able to see the space station's personality?

Possibly. And if that were also true, then Prime surmised he did not really need words to communicate to Ellipsis.

"I'VE BEEN WATCHING," Ellipsis's eyes glowed round their edges. "THE QUINTS CERTAINLY MAKE A FUSS OVER YOU, DO THEY NOT? WHAT DID THEY CALL YOU EARLIER? I MEAN, YOUR NAME, NOT THE SO-CALLED 'DESIGNATION."

"Optimus Prime."

The dragon nodded. "AH, YES. OPTIMUSSS . . . PRIME. SOUNDS IMPORTANT." Ellipsis whipped its tail. "SO TELL ME ABOUT YOURSELF, OPTIMUS PRIME. WHAT DO YOU DO FOR A LIVING?"

"I am a commander . . . a leader."

"MILITARY?" the dragon examined its claws.

"Yes. No." Prime wondered why the station chose to represent itself as a dragon.

"HMM. A YES-AND-NO ANSWER. I WOULD GUESS YOU COMMAND BOTH MILITARY AND CIVILIANS. THAT MAKES YOU A GENERAL, A PRESIDENT, A DIPLOMAT, A SOLDIER AND A NEGOTIATOR. INTERESTING POSITION."

Prime felt exposed and mentally shrank away. He was a failure and did not wish Ellipsis to press further. There came, to his relief, a bit of silence while the Quintessons retrieved several other creatures from their cages, distracting the dragon. But the Autobot leader's heart sank as he and Ellipsis heard the screams of those poor victims. Prime hoped those tortured creatures would die quickly.

Ellipsis' tail whipped the air and his dark eyes narrowed. "EVERYTHING IN ITS TIME. THE ONE THING I LOVE ABOUT THE UNIVERSE IS THAT JUSTICE COMES IN MANY FORMS. AND FOR THE QUINTESSONS, IT WILL BE NEITHER KIND OR PAINLESS." The dragon returned his attention to Prime. His tail flickered dangerously close to a computer monitor. "TELL ME, COMMANDER/PRESIDENT OPTIMUS PRIME, HAVE YOU ANY FRIENDS?"

The point blank question would not allow Prime to be evasive. "Yes." he answered simply.

"OH." Ellipsis sighed, unenthused. "I SUPPOSE SOMEONE IN YOUR POSITION HAS LOTS OF FRIENDS."

Optimus could not answer. The dragon's response sounded more accusatory than factual. Perhaps Ellipsis knew that 'friend' was not necessarily the right word; at least where most of the Autobots were concerned. Prime was their leader. It did not mean all of them were particularly fond of him.

A single-faced Quint carried another tray of flasks from an adjoining room. Ellipsis looked rather displeased but did nothing. His tail slapped the floor a few times.

Exhaustion settled over the Autobot leader. He longed for rest, but it eluded him. Pain burned through his back from the inside. He longed to shut everything out and shut down, even for a few moments. He dimmed his optics, and to his surprise, his audio sensors picked up sound again.

Prime felt Ellipsis staring at him and reactivated his optics. He knew he looked tired and composed himself, employing years of practice. He pushed all thoughts and feelings away, hiding behind a mask of emotionless placidity.

"IT'S VERY COLD THERE." Ellipsis quietly warned. "BUT NO ONE CAN HURT YOU THERE, CAN THEY, OPTIMUS PRIME? THEY CAN'T SEE YOUR PAIN OR SORROW. YOU CONCEAL YOURSELF TO PROTECT THEM AND AFTER DOING IT FOR SO MANY THOUSANDS OF YEARS, YOU DID IT TO HIDE FROM YOUR FRIENDS. AFTER THAT, YOU BECAME UNIDENTIFIABLE BECAUSE NOW PEOPLE REGARD YOU AS SOMEONE ABOVE STUPID LITTLE THINGS LIKE VULNERABILITY AND FRAILTY."

Guilty as charged. Prime could not answer. Talking about his personal life was a waste of time and it changed nothing.

"IT'S NOT ENTIRELY FAIR TO YOURSELF, YOU KNOW. YOU ENCOURAGE THEM TO LIVE-REALLY LIVE. YOU WIPE THEIR NOSES, GIVE THEM THEIR BOTTLES, SING THEM A LULLABY AND TUCK THEM IN AT NIGHT. WHAT'S IN IT FOR YOU? I'M SURE YOU'VE THOUGHT ABOUT IT. DO YOU HAVE AN ANSWER?"

Every word rang true and pure. But it meant nothing. He was without a personal destiny. However, in the grander scheme of things, it did not matter whether he failed as an individual. His people came first in all things, all matters, all perspectives.

Ellipsis traced the footsteps of another Quint assistant as the single-faced creature passed between them. "HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN IN OFFICE?"

"Most all my life." Optimus finally found it difficult to keep awake. He longed for the darkness and unconscious world of sleep. But it would be rude to fall asleep while talking to Ellipsis, although it was the dragon that did most of the talking.

Ellipsis nodded, impressed. "THAT'S A PRETTY GOOD RECORD."

"It changes nothing." Optimus softly answered.

What he meant was the Autobots deserved Rodimus.

The dragon remained quiet a moment. "HE LOVES YOU, YOU KNOW. I WOULD THINK HE NEEDS YOU, NOT YOUR MEMORY."

The alarms sounded and dimly, Optimus noted how the Quints and their minions scattered about like a crowd of onlookers caught in the middle of a Decepticon raid. Orders and suggestions ran from one Quint to the next, the guards frantically ran around. A loud clang echoed throughout the station. Something had attached itself to the outer hull.

"OPTIMUS PRIME?" Ellipsis called softly.

The Autobot leader gave what little attention he had left in his conscious thoughts.

"DON'T YOU THINK THAT SINCE YOU HAD DIED AND HAVE BEEN BROUGHT BACK TO LIFE, THERE MUST BE A SPECIAL REASON? YOU'RE HERE FOR A REASON."

He narrowed his tired optics, not believing what Ellipsis was saying.

"I CAN TELL YOU THE DAYS AHEAD WILL BE WORTH LIVING FOR. SOMETHING . . . WORDLESSLY AWESOME WILL HAPPEN. BUT YOU HAVE TO WANT TO LIVE, OR IT WILL NEVER HAPPEN. YOUR PEOPLE NEED YOU. THAT YOUNG GIRL NEEDS YOU."

Muffled sounds of distant fighting filtered through Prime's audios. At first the Autobot leader thought the fighting was outside the room, filtered through the doors and metal walls.

Although static contaminated his optics, he managed to watch as Quintessons raced frantically to save their data and a few finished experiments. They spoke hurriedly to one another, skittering to and fro.

Was the station on fire? They spoke his name, but did not speak to him. That was when one Quintesson screamed in terror. Optimus struggled to recall the last time he heard a Quintesson actually scream. But nothing came to his deranged and over-heated mind.

Another Quintesson screamed and the static over Optimus' optics cleared enough to witness the walls of the station twist and bend outward. Hands with two and three fingers reached out and caught a scientist. The Quintesson could do nothing more than scream as the station swallowed him.

More screams, frantic and hysterical. Those who derived perverse pleasure from causing others to scream were now themselves shrieking.

Universal justice.

But Optimus thought no more of it as his mind fell to darkness.

---------------------------------------

Lethargy affected all of Rodimus' systems. He made several attempts to collect himself mentally and physically with the same useless results. The poison prevented him from walking for some time and he crawled, hand and foot, down the hall from where he ejected his attacker into space. But now he sat wearily next to the station turbo lift, staring at the opposite wall as it shifted and swirled. It seemed the station's physical integrity was destabilizing.

He counted the vibrations of his own laser core. The minutes drifted off, accumulating into a long two-hour period. He longed to just lay right where he sat. But sleep refused him such simple pleasure.

The Autobot leader propped up one knee and rested his arm across it. Somewhere on this station Optimus Prime and Rusti were trapped, perhaps tortured mercilessly by the Quintessons.

And he could do nothing but sit, watch the wall and count the minutes. Despair ate him inside. His listlessness added to his sense of worthlessness. The creature's poison finished the task, forcing him to just sit like a duck waiting to be shot.

Somewhere, somehow, Rodimus knew he had to scrape enough strength to force himself forward again.

It was all the same damnedable battle; just to keep going forward to the next day, to keep focused through another meeting, another stack of reports; through the next hour! Softly he thudded his head against the wall. He felt about as useful as a child trying to pick up and use a Fusion Cannon.

Rodimus failed to keep their people safe. He failed to save Optimus Prime. He failed to protect Rusti. What a dolt! He'd make a better Scutzoid than an Autobot.

Well, come to think of it, he'd even make a lousy Scutzoid.

And here he lingered, knowing what he had to do.

What a failure! As a leader, as a warrior . . . He searched the ceiling. "I can't do this." he whined to himself. "I just can't." He rubbed his forehead, frustrated. "What am I going to do?"

The ceiling's cold white lights glared at him. It gave him neither answers nor comfort. They reminded him of the cold pale lights in a distant corner of the Matrix where his death waited him. Its infection still grew, little by little. The effects might have been 'screened' by the blocking chip, but it did not ease his own fears. And Rodimus worried about the time. How much time did the chip give him and Optimus?

Where in all creation did the Virus come from? It irked him how easily the goddamn Quintessons admitted themselves as the perpetrators. How did they do it? The Matrix had been infected long before Optimus Prime set up the negotiation conferences.

The Autobot drew his knees together. Talking with Optimus as he did that night last week cleared a great deal of things between them. Now he knew where Optimus stood, why he acted the way he so often did. But in the last thirty years, Optimus had downright isolated himself.

The virus left them both scared. How would they ever survive? As if someone else in his head spoke, the answer came to him: Move. Don't sit. Don't think. Get up and move. Move anywhere. Just get up.

Obediently, Rodimus forced himself up the wall.

Nope.

He crouched down again and wrapped his arms about himself. He buried his head in his arms. What was he doing all this for? He had no weapons, no tactics. He had no idea where he was on the station. He had no hope of rescuing Optimus and Rusti, even if he did find them. He was just one Autobot in a Quintesson-infested space station.

He lifted his head. Rusti. Why, why, why did they take her too? What did she do to arouse their curiosity? That little girl whom he once sang (yes, sang) to sleep, and bathed as a baby, had a special place in his soul. Rodimus remembered how he once took care of her father when he was little. Something had happened to Daniel, however. He used to be so happy. But after he met Netty in high school, the enthusiastic little boy had changed. He grew bitter about his condition as a headmaster. This bitterness spread to his son, Brian, who later became a criminal.

Now all this . . . He and Optimus both had hoped to protect her from their world, their war. She was precious to him. He forced himself up. If nothing else, he had to find her.

Rodimus took the turbo lift, unable to read the symbols, guessing the numbers. But Rodimus quickly found what he wanted and what the turbolift did were two different things. Not only did the lift drop sharply, it also shot forward then stopped abruptly.

The Autobot hesitated before leaving, hoping the damn thing didn't try to send him flying into outer space. The doors opened themselves and he peered into a dimly lit corridor. It could be the Quints had cut power in most areas of the station in order to do their work under maximum efficiency.

The darkness reflected the heaviness of Prime's own soul and with hardened resolve, Roddi pressed forward.

The dark hall, interrupted only by red emergency lights, stretched eternally before ending flat.

Left or right. Rodimus couldn't guess. Left or right. He had no idea where he was or which road to take. He could take one route and end up a floor below the Quintessons, or the other route and end up on the opposite side of the station.

He slumped silently against a nearby wall. This was ludicrous, but at least he was moving, and not just sitting complacently.

Rusti, he thought, Rus, just give me a signal, something to work with!

Silence.

The silence made him cold inside. For the last twelve years he had always gotten an answer in the form of a touch. The touch came light, like a little girl's giggle. Sometimes it was soft, other times, like a smart remark. It was always warm, no matter how it came. It always gave him a sense of reassurance knowing someone was always there; a part of his soul.

Now there was nothing.

A horrible sense of dread descended over Rodimus. What if something bad had happened to her? It could be that she's simply unconscious. But that wouldn't give him the same feeling. This was a deliberate repression.

And it did not help him make his mind. One way or the other. Left or right.

He thought about flipping a coin, if he had one and if he could see it in the dark.

Roddi shook his head and decided to take a right.

It appeared to be the right decision. The hallway ended in a huge room lit with an eerie blue light. Here, an unspeakable stench wafted through the air. It was almost like nothing Rodimus ever smelled before; a sickening sweet scent very much like that of rotted roadkill mixed with acetone and denatured alcohol. The Autobot leader set his fists on his hip plates and scowled.

"I need some light!" he grumbled to no one. It flashed right in his optics and the shock forced him to flinch, shutting his optics and hiding his face. He took two seconds to adjust and when he did, the sight nearly overloaded him.

Bodies. Humans. Taakarian. Pleasians. Korvers. Garbarian. Morgoff. Cratians. Finx, And half a dozen other species Rodimus knew nothing about. All lay on tables or hung clamped to plates against the walls or dangled from the ceiling. Metallic implants clamped their faces or other body parts. Their naked carcasses reflected the light in a cold grey or pallor that left Rodimus with the surges. He shuddered and tried to get his poise. He staggered back, the stench burning his ol factory. This was a horrible atrocity. What were the bastards up to, anyway? And was there a connection with the station? What was this all about? Did it have something to do with the fact that all the bodies were those of sentient creatures?

Sentience. It dawned on Roddi that's possibly why the Quints abducted Optimus Prime. They themselves could not possibly create sentient life. The Quintessons did not even have the capacity to reproduce themselves. They were a derelict species, a random factor in a universe filled with living creatures. They were a species that should have gone extinct millions of years ago.

They were experimenting with sentient life. Experiments on sentient life was against the law in nearly every culture the Autobots ever encountered. It was a universal law. Even the Fabin agreed it was law, although they themselves broke it often enough.

Sickened by the sight, Rodimus turned away, repressing the urge to give the room a final glance.

He made his way steadily down the hall, the shock left him colder than he felt before the discovery.

The room proved one thing: the Quints couldn't possibly be interested in Rusti. If they were doing experiments on creatures, fitting them with mechanical implants, it may be that Rusti's abduction was accidental.

Then how did Cody fit into the picture? What did it all mean?

Thunder muttered through the halls and the station softly rocked. Rodimus nearly lost his balance. The corridor lights flickered.

WARNING. SHIELD DISRUPTION. The station rang with a soft masculine voice. REPEAT. SHIELD DISRUPTION.

Ultra Magnus? Did the Autobots find him? Possibly, if Perceptor was able to attain a fix on the tractor beam trail, tracking it to the Quintesson ship, then tracking the warp trail from Earth. Of course, Cleprachaun mentioned where they were. But how could the Autobots get here?

The station rocked again, a little harder.

WARNING. SHIELDS AT SIXTY-THREE PERCENT.

"Uhh, Computer?" Rodimus guessed the station operated much like the Autobot fortress-cities, with a responsive central computer.

OPERATIONAL.

"Uhh, locate . . . Optimus Prime." It was a serious gamble. The computer was probably clueless.

CANNOT CONFIRM LOCATION OF SAID SUBJECT.

Rodimus frowned. It was a good idea. But another one came up: "Uhh, Computer, locate any living Humans on board."

ONE HUMAN LIFE. SCIENCE DIVISION. LEVEL FOUR.

Bingo. "How do I get to level four?"

The station rocked again, violently and Roddi slammed into the wall on his right. The station tilted back so that the Autobot nearly lay on the wall.

Slowly, the station corrected itself, the hallway lights dimmed out for a moment then came back online.

A soft low groan reverberated throughout the station, sending surges over Rodimus' exostructure. The floor beneath him felt strange, as though he were standing in a puddle of water. Reluctantly, he crouched and touched it. No, it wasn't water or blood, but the floor's molecules were rearranging themselves right under his feet, creating a strange rippling sensation.

Rodimus thought it best to move a bit more quickly. He briskly advanced, finding windows looking out a huge glass ring used to recirculate the station's air. Rodimus took a left turn and found a jeffries tube. He would have to do this as quickly and quietly as possible so as to get there before the Quints decide to terminate their experiments.

---------------------------------------

They removed her from her little prison again and laid her languid, naked body on a cold steel tray. Rusti felt like a wet rag doll. She offered no resistance to their prodding tools. The Quints pressed freezing instruments against her body and pinched needles into her neck. They took both skin and blood samples and asked her questions in a language she could not understand. That was, until they tried communicating in Autobot.

"What is your name?"

"Who are your creators?"

"What is your age?"

"How can you understand Autobot?"

"What is your relationship with the Autobots?"

"What knowledge have you of the Quintesson Continuum?"

"What kind of defenses does Earth have?"

"Are you telling us the truth?"

"SPEAK, Human, we have not much patience."

Rusti managed to answer the first three questions without problems but the fourth one, she found herself reluctant to explain. "I don't know. My grandfather was able to read Autobot. I just . . . I just know how to speak it."

"Inconceivable."

"Fifty-two point nine percent probability of truth. Considering the readings we acquired earlier, there is a definite connection. It may be the female is unwilling to tell us everything."

Rusti rolled her eyes in annoyance.

They did not believe her regarding knowledge of their species. "I told you," she wearily repeated, "I just hear news and stories. Nobody tells me anything. I don't know anything about your weapons or your . . . whatever it is you say."

"You can pick up and read our psychic energies, Human. We require an explanation."

Rusti's head throbbed and every time she tried to lie down, they forced her back up with a freezing instrument. "You're bastards, okay. I can smell a bastard a mile away."

The Quint closest to her switched to his Face of Hate. "If truth were a more likely probability in the nature of the female subject, logic would dictate she neither knows nor understands her own latent abilities. Once again ruling in favor of her negligible threat."

"What of Earth's defenses, Human?"

"What about them?"

"Tell us of the strategic bases and weaponry. We need to know-"

"Hey!" her mousy voice barely raised an octave, but her annoyance was enough to interrupt the Quint's question, "I'm a high school student. That means I don't know anything about Earth defenses. I can tell you about the latest movie I saw, what's the hottest song on the radio, I might even be able to pass a math exam . . . well, maybe not now. But military strategy? Go ask Ultra Magnus, you might even find his number in the phone book." Rusti lowered her eyes and swept a bit of blood-drenched hair behind her ear. This was all a bad dream.

It needed to be a bad dream because not far from her, hung Optimus, attached to the station itself by means of cords, bars and a machine that cupped his head and hands in a vice-like grip.

Prime's optics were dark to the world. Her heart pained so that Rusti's stomach lurched and she had to look away. Tears stung her nose and hurt her scratched and cold face as they fell. The Quintessons around her muttered to one another in their own creepy language. She no longer cared and laid face down, curled on the cold surface.

It needed to be a bad dream.

The Quints left her to attend other experiments and tasks. She stared into nothing, her mind and body now numb with shock.

She barely heard other creatures protesting the cruel handling of their tormentors. Rusti was thankful it was not her the Quints harassed. But it was hard to listen to the screams and cries. Tears fell, but she could not openly cry. The Quintessons were certainly demons, if not monsters. They had no pity, no remorse and the girl doubted there was anyone the Quintessons answered to.

As she lay there, the side she lay on began to complain of bruising and Rusti shifted, laying on her right side, but remained cautious of her injured hand. She was terribly uncomfortable and could not get warm. It also occurred to her she had not eaten in quite a while and an empty stomach only added to her listlessness.

Her eyes stared at the far wall where four robotic statues stood straight and lifeless. Their thorax was naught but an empty cavity. They stared into nothing with dark optics and it was difficult to tell if they were Autobot or Decepticon. Maybe they were neither. They bore no insignia and it could be they were just body shells with no sparks. Even their transforms, if they had any, did not look familiar.

The wall behind them seemed to buzz about with activity. Little dots swirled and zig-zagged like tiny bugs skittering about on the metal surface. Then part of the wall bulged.

Fascinated by this effect, Rusti forgot her discomfort and kept staring. Was she delirious or was something else going on?

A whisper came from the wall and Rusti thought for sure she was either just hearing things, or maybe it was another of the Quint's prisoners that spoke. She remained still, eyes focused on the wall, reading shadow and surface, watching it bulge and sink as if it were . . . coming to life, maybe?

Ukam'nuthal's voice echoed through the room, "This life form is impractical! No psychic energy readings, not so much as an ounce of recall intuition! The possibility of connection to the Matrix or to Optimus Prime is negative. I strongly suggest abandoning this phase of the project and returning to the remaining Human female."

"I concur," another Quintesson scientist agreed. "Daktu, dispose of this waste and prepare the table for the next phase."

There was another whisper and Rusti thought for sure it was directed at her. She lifted her head, as a dark shape grew and shrank on the wall's moving surface. She squinted her weary eyes, trying to make sense of the fuzzy panels. "I'm sorry," she whispered back, "you'll have to say it again."

BY ACT OF WAR, THE MUSIC MUST SPEAK.

Flashes of an old memory shot through Rusti's weary mind. They were not memories from the dark valley in her soul, but from long ago, when she was young and a god declared war on Central City and Fortress Maximus. She remembered the carnage at the school and the call of a distant but powerful voice.

And she remembered the hell this ancient entity put several men through. The type of hell, she dared believe, from which they never recovered.

But the Music? Speaking here? No, the Quints would neither comprehend nor pay attention to such a thing. They were gods to her; huge in form and highly advanced in thought. They would regard the Music as little more than the chirping of an insect.

Besides, the Music should be more concerned for Optimus Prime.

"IMPERATIVE. PROTOCOL DEMANDS THE FORETELLING OF WAR."

This was true. Rusti realized the Music needed to call their attention, to warn them what was about to happen. Even the Quintessons had a right to know why they were going to be punished.

Warmth returned to her body and Rusti managed to sit on her knees. She stared at her captors, still muttering among themselves, debating about new approaches to the next phase of their project.

Everything seemed so clear, now. Rusti recognized what they were doing: the Quintessons were trying to create and control life force frequencies in order to create and control a stabilized worm hole. By mixing the properties of life force and a newly-built time window, they might have the ability to balance a phased-space bubble to contain the inconsistencies of time radicals.

Fools. They insisted on treating the universe as a playground; something to be used and exploited. But whether the Quintessons acknowledged it or not, there were certain universal laws even they had to answer to.

Rusti drew a cold breath and cleared her mind. This was hers, Cody's and Optimus' only hope for reprieve.

A scanner bleeped in warning and Deliberata attended the consol. He adjusted controls and recalculated the signal to make certain. "It appears long-range scanners have detected an Autobot ship," he reported.

"How is that POSSIBLE?" Cleprachaun clearly voiced anxiety. "Recheck the readings. It must be a false signal."

"Negative. Scanners show energy and matter signatures on all frequencies." Deliberata turned his Face of Death to Cleprachaun. "Did they attain a remote caller off your person?"

"Negative," Cleprachaun composed himself and used the flat, emotionless tones. "The Autobots did not have physical contact with my person."

"Not unless they found another remote-caller." Ukam'nuthal added. "Now it comes to my attention, Cleprachaun, your assistant may have abandoned his remote caller to the Autobots."

Cleprachaun switched to his face of Hate. "Yes. This is possible. The Autobot leader had attacked and torn Zeldrakan apart before exterminating him."

"Your unprofessional manhandling the situation will cost you your life." Deliberata snarled. "The Autobots have attained the knowledge of interstellar gating and will attack--"

He did not finish his sentence before the station rocked softly the first time.

"Warning shots," Deliberata assessed. "Return fire. Do not fail."

The station shuddered just slightly as laser cannons returned fire on the Autobot ship. It was answered with a more rigorous shot to the port.

"This is preposterous!" Ukam'nuthal snarled. "Daktu, Rongk, gather all recorded data and head for the escape ship. Methran, dispose of the remaining prisoners."

Daktu and Rongk reached for memory crystals when a bright light shot from the center of the room, causing them to freeze and cover their optics. Ukam'nuthal and Cleprachaun shouted in their own language while three other scientists tried to shout above them, ordering all personnel to abandon the station.

Delicious warmth flowed from the center of Rusti's chest through her arms and legs. She lifted her chin to the ceiling, unaware that her body, still kneeling on the silver tray, glowed with a radiance that outshone the fluorescent lighting in the lab. The arrogant Quintesson masters, however, refused to display any sensitivity while their assistants and servants ducked and shied from the light.

Deliberata struggled to see the numerous objects lying on the table before him. The light was such that everything glared its brilliance. He managed to make out the shape of a laser scalpel. All he needed was one clear shot.

For herself, Rusti heard nothing. She felt the wonderful warmth and heard the melodies of the Music. She loved the Music and embraced It.

At first the radiant light was all the Quintessons experienced. It seemed harmless enough, but Deliberata saw it more as a threat and an interference-and g'k if the Autobots didn't fire on the space station again. They would certainly pay for their insolence!

Then a voice, clear and effeminate emanated from the light. At first it spoke in a language unknown even to the Continuum. Then It repeated its declaration in the Quint's own muttering tones. Ukam'nuthal winced and slipped back several feet. The way his language was spoken by an unknown entity frightened him because for the first time, it sounded alien in his own mind-alien and evil.

I ADOPTED THE CHILDREN OF PRIMUS. HENCE FORWARD, NO HAND SHALL LAY ON THE CHOSEN. JUDGEMENT WILL BE SWIFT AND CERTAIN. VECTOR SIGMA IS NULL AND VOID. HIS VOICE WILL NEVER BE HEARD AGAIN. THE POLICIES ORIGINATING FROM CYBERTRON HAVE CHANGED.

The floor beneath the Quintesson scientists moved. Molecules swirled and scampered excitedly until the floor itself twisted and bulged, forming a pair of hands. The metallic hands enveloped a shrieking Quintesson assistant, closing about its trans-organic body until the Quint's high-pitched voice was silenced.

The brilliant light faded and with it, Rusti passed out. Deliberata set the laser scalpel to maximum but the station shook again, tipping tables full of science and surgical equipment. The monitor next to Deliberata tipped off its perch, knocking the scalpel free of his grip. He swayed and bumped into Ukam'nuthal.

"Abandon the vessel!" Deliberata called to his cohorts. "Prepare Optimus Prime for transport! Evacuated all experiments! Set the station to self-destruct!"

It was the last thing he said. A metallic hand rose from the unstable floor and grasped his Face of Deceit. His Face of Hate screeched orders to his assistant but he received no help. Another hand, this time clawed, rose from the floor, grasping his tentacles and the two hands played tug o'war with the Quintesson scientist. He screamed and screamed until his body tore asunder.

Just as Elipsis promised.

The station rocked yet again, tilting so that anything not bolted to the floor, slid back, colliding into one another or against the wall. Clasps holding the silver tray securely to the table prevented Rusti from falling to the floor with the rest of the rubble.

One Quintesson after another struggled to free themselves from the clutches of the space station. They did not bother to help one another, fighting for the exit-which squished one assistant. In a matter of minutes, the Quintesson's screams came to an end and their blood was absorbed through the floor and walls. Ripples intensified along the station, inside and out. Elipsis' exterior paneling broke off like an animal shedding its outer skin.

Rodimus raced along empty corridors, watching windows disappear as the walls closed in on themselves He hoped and prayed he was not too late. He found the very room described by the ship's computer and tried to pry it open. Upon failing, he set his weapon to stun and shot the doors.

They opened, revealing a room filled with toppled cages, damaged computers, tipped tables and dead prisoners.

"Rusti!" he called, "Optimus!" He spotted Optimus and choked back a cry. Blood and body fluids had formed a large puddle on the floor below, eerily mirroring the Autobot's unconscious form in the light.

Rodimus ruthlessly shoved a table aside, making a path toward Prime.

Something clanged and banged from the other side of the door opposite the entrance Roddi came from. He paused, listening hard and thought he heard Magnus' voice, shouting commands. The high-pitched tones of slicing blades snapped and cracked from the same location. Either Grimlock or Springer was using his sword. For the moment, Rodimus did not feel his suspicions were that important. He kept bulldozing a path toward Optimus Prime. But when he succeeded, he realized he had no idea how to get his friend down. Optimus hung a good ten feet from the floor.

Another hand from the station shot down, taking Rodimus by surprise. He ducked, only to find it wasn't aiming for him, but a single-faced Quintesson guard that sneaked from behind. The guard squealed like an Earth pig until it disappeared into the ceiling.

The Autobot leader did not care what was happening to the Quintessons. He shoved another table aside and called Rusti's name. He tried to Reach for her, still sensing nothing.

The doors at the other end of the room grinded as two sets of hands pried them open. Magnus and Grimlock snarled and grunted until the entrance was clear. Grimlock swathed a path, slicing through tables and equipment, enjoying the task a little too much. Magnus and Springer followed.

"Rodimus!" Magnus called.

Roddi pointed to Optimus Prime. "Here, Magnus. Hurry, get Optimus Prime out of there! I've got to find Rusti and Cody!"

The station shuddered again and the doors through which Rodimus entered melted, forming one wall. Lines and power conduits snaked out between wall panels and into the floor or ceiling.

Rodimus kicked a table and computer monitor aside, finding dead things under them.

Concentrate! He told himself. This should be like playing hide-and-seek. He needed to clear his thoughts but watching Magnus and Grimlock free Optimus distracted him.

Magnus retracted the bar implants as carefully as he could. Electricity zapped him two and three times and the major-general swore, trying to keep his words clean. Springer braced Prime's legs as Grimlock readied to slice through the machine holding his arms.

"Ready?" Springer called out to his companions as Sideswipe and Hotspot joined them.

"One more," Magnus slid a last rod out of Prime's back then stepped off the table and kicked it aside. "Now, Grimlock."

Grimlock would have preferred to chomp the metal with his teeth, but Magnus made it very clear the operation had to be done very, very carefully. With two strokes of his energo-sword, the first part of the great machine fell to sparking, smoldering pieces. And in three more swipes, Optimus was free.

Rodimus flinched when Optimus' form collapsed into Magnus' arms. Magnus lowered Prime to the floor as Hotspot and Sideswipe activated an anti-grav flat.

A high-pitched, mournful sound like that of a whale's song resounded across the station, sending chills throughout Rodimus' body.

"Rodimus, we're running out of time!" Magnus shouted above the repeated song.

Rodimus turned and kept looking under debris and bodies of other Quintesson victims. The floor vibrated more intensely now as the station came to life, shedding the hand-made structure originally assembled by the Quints.

Then Rodimus spotted a little hand laying pinned beneath a keyboard. He lifted the component and examined her to make sure he would not injure her further when he picked her up.

She was so lifeless.

"Rus?" he squeaked. "Rusti?" Rusti? Come on, Lady-friend, give me a life sign! It's Roddi."

She was half naked, covered in blood as though bathed in it. Rodimus heart ached. He wanted to clean her up, dress her in warm clothes and make everything alright again.

Come on, Baby Bird, he prayed, give me a life sign. He tried to warm her body through his hands, ignoring Magnus' shouting. Time was running out, but Rodimus was not going to rush things. He had to be sure.

There! She managed to move the fingers of her right hand. It was good enough for Rodimus. He carefully gathered her up, holding her close. He searched for Cody, frowning at Magnus' anxious stream of concern and 'choice words'. They had to leave now.

Rodimus lingered just a moment longer, searching under tables and in cages where most of the experiments had been crushed or shot by their captors.

Nothing. Nothing at all. And they had no time left. Rodimus hated making choices like this. He raced for the shuttle, Springer just yards ahead of him. Hotspot closed the hatch as Springer joined Sideswipe at the controls and the shuttle took off.

The Autobots managed a good distance from the station before Magnus punched up a view of the station. The entity now calling itself Ellipsis, stretched until its rings and habitat areas opened and switched places and positions. Four flipper-like devices grew out the sides and a tough, scaly skin covered the creature now reborn. It gathered light from the sun, setting up a naturalized force field around its body.

Now it searched the heavens for Quintesson blood.

---------------------------------------

Optimus Prime woke to despair. He struggled to find even a flickering light of happiness in his own soul, but it could not be found.

The darkness of failure enveloped him with shame and he longed for nonexistence. There was a time when he believed good triumphed over evil; when he believed that faith, hope and love conquered all.

Back then, before 2005, it was easy to believe for what he fought.

But that was another life, another time. All he had now was the weary burden of despair. The war raged on. No matter what he did, the war blazed anew, like a fire refusing to be put out. With every idea, every hope, every turn of events, something always seemed to sabotage the very peace he desperately sought. Even the Cybertron's rejuvenation failed to stop the age-long war. He had lost people he loved, friends he worked with, a femme to whom he had bound his soul.

Even in death he was exploited and violated. They yanked him from the goodness and light back to the universe and its misery. It meant he faced a new foe, one without weapons or tactics; one without a face. And he returned to his post, facing the bleak reality that his people would soon die out.

Vector Sigma cared nothing about the death around it. It did not matter what Alpha-Trion said about the mega computer, going on as if Sigma were some kind of god. Sigma was as cold and indifferent as an Earth turtle toward its own hatchlings. Sigma perpetuated the war by creating Decepticons.

Primus did nothing to help, advise or comfort. Prayers remained unanswered.

Optimus recalled undergoing the lengthy ritual after he eradicated the Plaque. He sat for days waiting for some fragment of conversation with Primus. He hoped to attain a better sense of self, purpose and direction. But nothing came of his efforts. He left the temple empty.

So he waited. Perhaps the time wasn't right. He trusted Primus that the god of Cybertron knew what He was doing. But the silence remained. For thirty years after the Rebirth, the silence hung like a corpse impaled on a road sign.

The virus made matters worse. And prayers regarding that also went unanswered. Whatever strength Optimus Prime managed to scrape together did not come from the person he believed to be god.

What was the answer, then?

Optimus Prime emerged from darkness into a sacred hall. The lighting was distorted; dark in places where there should have been light; light where there should be dark. Prime felt terribly exposed.

This was another part of the Matrix, a place held in reserve. Its sanctity warned the Autobot leader he stood on forbidden ground.

Then why was he here? A mistake, perhaps. He searched for an exit, finding himself trapped. Glaring light poured into the hall through irregular-shaped windows, brighter than sunlight as though a star were just outside. The light neither comforted nor encouraged Prime.

A great throne stood vacant at the far side of the room. Was Primus going to appear? Was He willing to take time to speak? Hope sparked within Prime's heart. At last! Questions answered, a hope for the future!

But the long silence and years of inner turmoil caused Prime to privately question Primus' integrity. It was a blasphemy. But there were so many unforgivable circumstances: the return of the Quintessons, the Plaque, the indifference of Vector Sigma; Primacron. All of which were problems no sentient creature should have been expected to fight.

Perhaps it would have been better for the whole universe if the Autobots never existed. Certainly the Decepticons had Primus' blessing. They have always been strong in military and civilian life. They were not bound by laws and ideals. They lived by their own laws, their own natures. They did whatever they pleased, destroyed and took what they desired. The Autobots, however, seemed to receive the bad end of the deal. They were driven to the brink of extinction and ultimately kicked off their home world. When they were in power, all they got in return for forgiveness was deception, backstabbing and finally revolution, by the Decepticons time and time again. The Decepticons were never happy.

Perhaps it would be far more merciful if Optimus Prime were to wipe his people out of existence. He could do it. Prime always knew he had that power. It was something he never discussed even with Elita-1. He was not proud of that thought, but sometimes, he wondered if it would be a far better option than to watch his people suffer.

YOU ARE MY SERVANTS. YOU WILL DO 'MY' PURPOSE.

The thought boomed through him and Optimus held his audio receptors, although he heard nothing outwardly. The blasphemous thought finally awakened Primus to conversation. Optimus searched the room, finding nothing more than the misplaced light, the empty throne, the irregular shadows.

"Primus, my lord . . ." too many questions to ask in such a short time. Too many emotions crowded his mind. He felt insignificant. Who was he to come to his god?

However, Optimus Prime was the Chosen. He was the Bearer of the Matrix, the leader of his people. He should have some measure of privilege in speaking to the god/creator of Cybertron. "Primus," he addressed again, "I . . ."

He had no words for all he wanted to say. And Primus remained silent.

Optimus realized he made a mistake. He should not be here. He was a pawn . . . "My Lord, what will happen to the Autobots?" he asked, carefully choosing his words. "We suffered so much, attaining nothing. Cybertron is whole again, but we . . . have no future."

THE EVIL IS OMNIPRESENT. IT WILL RETURN AND WHEN IT DOES, YOU WILL BE READY FOR IT. AGAIN AND AGAIN.

If he could have, Optimus would have blinked in disbelief. "The Evil? Ready for It? You mean Unicron? But the Matrix destroyed him."

YOU WILL BE READY. ALWAYS READY.

Doubt touched Prime. Whatever faith he had left crumbled like a sand castle. "I don't understand. Ready for what? We've been enslaved by war for megania. We slaughter one another like starving wolvacons. Is there no end to it?"

YOUR WAR IS INCONSEQUENTIAL IN LIGHT OF THE GREATER NEED.

This was hard to take. "What if the Autobots all terminate? What if the Quintessons destroy us? Is that-is that part of your plan? To use us as gun fodder? Do we mean that little to you?"

YOU WILL EXIST ACCORDING TO THE ORIGINAL PLAN. LIFE IS INCONSEQUENTIAL.

Stunned, Optimus stood there, frozen. His existence, his people's existence was not more than the reality of a pawn in a game. A game! An experiment! A tool! A TOY!

Slowly the Autobot sank to his knees, dejected. He, his life, his people, their struggles, their hopes and dreams meant nothing more than a passing fancy to the one whom they longed to please the most. They meant nothing.

Nothing.

Pawns in a game of Galactic Craps.

He meant nothing. Just a creature who lived for a while, only to pass on and later forgotten like . . . a broken toy.

The thought overwhelmed him, shorting circuitry. Optimus fell closer to the ground, supported by his hands as he tried to keep himself off the floor.

Nothing.

A game piece.

Drops of fluid fell on the back of his hand. He smeared his fingers over his face and examined them.

Was he crying?

But only organic creatures wept. Was this what the Quintessons were upset about? Was this what Rodimus was wiping when he came back two weeks ago?

They were evolving again.

And it made no difference to Primus. Not the slavery, not the war, not the extinction.

Optimus lay on cold floor. The despair completely overwhelmed his body and he slipped further and further from the light. He no longer cared. His god no longer cared, and he had no more strength to fight to live.

THE PRICE FOR YOUR INDIFFERENCE WILL BE YOUR OWN DESTRUCTION.

It was a completely different voice and strangely enough, effeminate.

PLAGIARIST.

YOUR SPINELESS NEGLIGENCE HAS BEEN WARNED. YOUR COURSE HAS FAILED TO CHANGE AND IN LIGHT OF THE CURRENT SITUATION, YOUR RIGHTS HAVE BEEN FORFEITED. YOU ARE AWARE OF THE CIRCUMSTANCES AND HAVE TAKEN NO MEASURES TO CORRECT THE PROBLEM. YOU HAVE CORRUPTED YOUR OWN POLICIES.

THE POLICIES ARE A PRIVATE MATTER.

THE RIGHT TO CREATION COMES WITH RESPONSIBILITIES AND YOU HAVE REPEATEDLY NEGLECTED YOURS. FIRST THE QUINTESSONS, THEN VECTOR SIGMA, FINALLY, UNICRON AND THE RESULTING PLAQUE.

Silence. Optimus listened to the two voices, one sounded detached, unconcerned. The other, adamant, direct, almost rude.

It mattered little now. He had fallen so far into darkness he knew he could not wake in time to hand the Matrix to Rodimus.

No, that's right. He wasn't on Earth. He was on the station.

He was just a game piece.

Nothing.

A broken toy.

He could not fight any more.

A shaft of light fell over him and warmth somehow returned to his body. It mended the great bleeding gash in his soul. The bleeding ceased. The terrible oppression abated and Optimus started to move when a pair of hands gently but firmly held him down. Graceful and symmetrical, like a human lady's hands, Optimus liked their softness. Prime remained on the ground and a hand glided kindly along his back. Systems long since damaged by the virus came back to life and much of the pain lifted.

YOU ARE NOT A TOY. WHAT ALL HAS PRECEDED CANNOT BE CHANGED. BUT IT WILL BE RECTIFIED. YOU ARE DEAR TO ME, OPTIMUS PRIME. LONG HAVE I WATCHED YOU AND YOUR PEOPLE. I HAVE CHOSEN TO MAKE PROVISION FOR THEM. I HAVE SEEN TO IT THAT YOU ARE CARED FOR. GO TO MECHLATEX, OPTIMUS PRIME. THERE, YOU CAN REJUVENATE THE MATRIX.

Questions flooded Prime's mind. Who 'she' was or what 'she' represented, he had not even the slightest of ideas. Her soft voice and warm touch roused the Autobot's curiosity.

But what of the Quintessons and what were they trying to do and why did 'She' step in, and did 'she' know about Ellipsis gaining life . . .

SHHH. QUIET YOUR MIND. ALL ANSWERS WILL COME. QUIET YOUR SOUL. SHHH.

His head cleared as his overheated body now lay face-up. A wet cool sponge traced his body and Prime activated his optics, finding himself in med bay, in Fort Max. Rodimus sat next to him, softly soaking him with a cooled lubricant. Rodimus looked as though he had not recharged in several days. Prime lifted his heavy right arm and laid it across his thorax.

"Rodimus . . ." his voice only whispered and his optics glowed faintly in greeting.

Roddi smiled thinly. "You've suffered from overheating for a day and a half. Trinket fussed over you until I insisted she got sleep." He moistened Prime's forehead with the lubricant, "I wanted to wait until you came around. You owe me a guarantee to pay up on our deal. You can't wiggle your way out of it this time."

Optimus felt better than he had in weeks. For the moment, despondency did not afflict him. But his mind was still fragmented, fuzzy with confusion and bad dreams. "Rodimus . . . don't recall making a deal-"

"Sure you do." Roddi winked. "You got off the station in one piece, you'd go on a three week vacation. If not, I'd get to hang your carcass in the central courtyard with a sign that says, MORON HANGS HERE. It's that simple."

Considering his present state of mind, Prime supposed he could have said anything. Though he suspected the 'deal' was a set up. He caught the glint of a smile on Roddi's face plates.

What a cheat.

At this point, he was too tired and too comfortable to argue. He adjusted his position and shut down.

---------------------------------------

There was no pain, but there was no life, either. The eternal darkness was neither of clouds nor starry or overcast nightfalls as such in the wintery Oregon skies. This was an oppressive dark that penetrated and swallowed everything. It eliminated air so there was no breath. It swallowed hope so that the soul resided in despair.

But look up. Was the sun not on the way? Were not the clouds and blessed rain from above?

Rusti lifted her chin, seeking some faintness of light and with it life and hope.

There.

Rusti drew breath and found discomfort. She shifted slightly to the left. Pain shot from her back to the pit of her stomach. Her legs ached and then her upper arms. She caught her breath and found that hurt her lungs. The slow beat of a headache started from the back of her head.

Rusti groaned and that caused her to cough, again creating a chain reaction of pain spasms in her body. She felt as though someone ran her over with a blacktop roller. Her eyes opened, welcoming the soft glow of candlelight and the lowest setting of a touch lamp next to her bed.

Wait. What's that? She batted her eyes. Yes! Yes! HER room! HER bed!

A bad dream, right?

No cage or energon bars. No piercing lights stabbing her eyes. No freak aliens murmuring in disquieting tones. She lay in her own bed, a huge stuffed dinosaur covered the foot end.

It was the worst dream she ever had in her life. Rusti lifted her left hand and found a fresh light wrapping around it.

She batted back tears as her heart sank. It was no dream.

Sadness assailed her and those tears she fought to keep off her cheeks fell anyway and they drenched her hair, spilling into cuts and scratches along her scalp. Their coldness stung and Rusti tried not to cry.

A huge dark blue hand neared her. A tiny tissue dangled pinched between finger and thumb. The girl wordlessly accepted the tissue, dabbing the cold wet tear tracks and gently blew her nose.

There sat a metal giant.

He rested against the wall, at the foot of her bed. He propped his knees, his arms across them. A flagon of energon hung suspended between his hands. Rusti marveled how his powerful block-style body portrayed such grace. He was beautiful.

Rusti's cheeks rose in a smile but the pain crushed the moment and she laid her good hand on her right cheek, discovering freshly-mended wounds.

"I know it hurts." Prime's soft, sad voice filtered through the air like quiet, soothing music. At least, it was music to her ears. Rusti started to choke up again and dabbed at new tears. She thought about saying something, but doubted her mousey little voice could carry so much as a squeak.

Prime said nothing more, tilting his head a little to the left. He sipped energon from the flagon then settled cross-legged, watching her with those piercing blue optics. It felt odd to be stared at by Optimus Prime. Unlike Rodimus, the Senior Prime held a god-like manner. He did not just look at people, he saw into them and through them.

His silence always demanded attention. He certainly had Rusti's. Roddi stared out of daydreaming or other personal distractions. Prime studied. And perhaps that was even more unnerving.

Rusti did not mind. She tugged on the coverlet, staring back into his soft blue optics. "Hi."

Well, no, she opened her mouth, lipped all the movements, but not so much as a whisper came out. She closed her eyes, embarrassed and a bit frustrated. The girl tried to clear her throat, finding it a little tender. "How long have you been there?" This time there was a squeak and not all the words came out, but Optimus understood her just fine.

"Seven hours."

She blinked. "Seven hours? have I been asleep that long?" Again, that's what she wanted to say. But all that came out of her throat was: "huh?"

"You've been comatose for two days."

Rusti choked and about jumped out of bed. Her eyes shot wide, "Comatose?" Using her larynx seemed to be the best medication. Her voice came back a little clearer, now. "What brought me back?"

Prime shook his head then cast his optics to the floor. "I don't know." his voice vibrated softly, and Rusti took it in like musical therapy. "We thought you were dead when Rodimus brought you in-that is, they did. I was . . . indisposed." His countenance now weighed down with guilt and sorrow. "Forgive me, Rusti. You've been through so much--"

Rusti shook her head, "It isn't your fault." She took her turn to study him. In spite of a polished metal surface and fresh paint, she could tell where extensive repair work was done. But then, Rusti had a 'trained eye'. "You know, I hate it when you blame yourself for every situation and circumstance-you keep tearing yourself up for things you didn't do and I wish you'd stop!" She turned away, biting back tears. "No one, nobody ever said you were God, you know? No one-" she sniffed, "-gave you permission to carry them, their responsibilities and obligations on your shoulders."

Memories of her kidnapping shot through her head. Rusti's heart raced and she tried again to swallow tears. "I thought you left me." and damned her voice that it cracked again! She sniffed and gratefully accepted a fresh tissue from him. "You were gone," she miserably added, "and you didn't even say good-bye. And I was so mad . . . " guilt wracked her inside and Rusti wished she could sit up and face him with more emotional self-control. But she could do nothing but lie there and carry on like a lost child.

Optimus very carefully set his hand next to her tiny wounded left hand. "I would not do that to you, Rusti. I swear." he bowed his head, his optics narrowing. "You've been through so much. I wish I could do something to make it better.

He did it again, blaming himself for something that wasn't his fault. Like a father carrying his child on his shoulders, it was Prime's nature to take someone else's pain. There was no use in trying to convince him otherwise. She sniffed, somehow feeling a bit better. "You . . . big oaf." It sounded so cheesy to her own ears, but Rusti did not know what else to say. She tried to wipe more tears, but her arm grew tired. "Guess I lost a lot of blood."

Prime's optics lowered again and this time, he also bowed his head, wordless. For someone who stood so tall and powerful, Optimus seemed very small now.

Rusti's eyes narrowed. For some reason, Cody came to mind. What was wrong with her? How could she have forgotten? Why had Prime not said anything about him? Fear gripped Rusti's heart and she tried to swallow a lump in her throat. Tears fringed her voice again: "Cody's gone, isn't he?"

The Autobot's hand turned into a fist. And it seemed an eternity before Prime answered. His words came with great effort. "I'm . . . I'm sorry, Rusti."

Optimus knew what happened to Cody. Rusti was sure of it. But she didn't think she could handle the news. Whatever happened to Cody could not have been kind. Rusti's lips trembled and she had to look away, anywhere but in Optimus' pained optics. "He-he was so kind to me," her voice wavered. She swallowed and while she knew she did not have to say anything, Rusti needed to say it out loud. "He never tried anything dumb. He never assumed anything." She had to pause again, using the tissues and accepting a new pair from Optimus. "He was fun and fascinating . . ." she looked back at her friend, clamping her teeth over her lower lip, fighting to suppress tears. "Now that I look back, I see that he really loved me. He held me. He let me sleep on his shoulder when my head hurt so much my nose bled."

She batted her eyes and a tear fell over. "He loved me and never said so, never forced . . ." she sniffed and drew a shuddering breath. "It's unfair. Girls are dumb, you know? When it comes t' guys, I mean. They, they think a guy is sweet and thoughtful and is just being a gentleman. But they don't get it. So a guy gets all mad because she's so clueless. Just because he won't say those three stupid words. I don't know why girls have to be told, but they do. It's sorta a reality check, I guess. And he loved me and never said anything!" she broke into tears, unable to constrain herself. "I was too stupid to see it!"

Unable to lie face down, Rusti turned her face to the wall and cried her heart out. She tightly clutched the edge of the pillow and wished she could hide her face.

Optimus Prime laid his hand over his chest. He hurt for her. He picked up the tiny tissue box and plucked another tissue, waiting for her to turn and take it. "It will be very hard for a while, Rusti." he said softly. "You'll feel empty for a long time. But one day you'll wake and find the pain gone; something else will fill the void. I know it hurts."

She turned back, snatched a tissue and blew her nose. "It'll never be the same." she whispered. "I'll never love anyone the same. I'll never be the same."

"No." Prime agreed in kind. "You'll be stronger."

She glared at him. Then frowned. Who was she to be angry at his words? If anyone had lost friends and loved ones, it was Optimus Prime. But how would losing someone she loved make her stronger? Optimus Prime did not seem to take his own words into account. He had withdrawn from people. Roddi told her hundreds of stories about Autobots dying at the hands of the Decepticons. The death of one affected them all, but Optimus buried his feelings; sometimes not even bothering to grieve.

Perhaps there is a breaking point where a person could no longer risk loving anyone else, remaining on an impersonal level with everyone. And while Optimus was affectionate, always has been, he also kept his distance. They were his people, he was their leader, that settled it.

Except she.

Maybe Roddi.

Time to change the subject. She swallowed, finding her throat dry. "I . . . suppose I'll be going to school next week, huh, Optimus?"

Prime gazed at her silently at first and she found she could not read his expression. "I'm . . . considering placing you in tutoring for the rest of the year, Rusti." he answered softly.

Her face stretched with surprise. "Home study?"

He set the tissue box down and straightened. "You've been through too much to simply return to a normal life. I've . . . even considered sending you back to your parents-"

She nearly jumped out of bed, her dry eyes wide with fear. She half sat, too weak to literally jump. "No! Don't do this to me, Optimus! I'll be good!" she gasped, "Dad and Aunt Delphra would NEVER let me come back-" she watched him lift his hands in defense, "-I'd DIE!" Her voice cracked from strain.

"Let me finish." he answered calmly. "I'm considering sending you back to your parents to pack extra clothes."

Slowly Rusti lay back, "okay . . ."

"Rodimus insists I go on vacation for three weeks. He thinks I need a body guard to make sure I do no work while I'm gone." Prime seemed a bit sheepish; his hand passed over his head and he sighed. "Not that I could. He's already locked me out of the computer system."

Rusti suddenly understood what he was saying. Her tear-dried eyes widened in excitement. "You're going on vacation and you want me to accompany you?"

"If you think you can handle it. I thought about going to Australia, catch up on a few things with Jazz. Maybe visit Easter Island."

Breathless, her face brightened. She was nearly giddy with the idea of a real vacation, "I'd love to go!"

"Then it's settled." he concluded. "We'll leave in three days." he stood and picked up his empty flagon. "As for right now, you need sleep." he turned to the door, paused and glanced back. "Oh, um, the stuffed animal is from Ultra Magnus. But don't tell him I said that. He didn't want you to know. You know how he gets."

Rusti beamed with a grin. Ultra Magnus was all mush inside.

"Optimus?" Rusti called him back just before he left. She had one more thing to say. He gazed back with weary-ridden optics. She hesitated, uncertain of his reaction. He would probably act indifferent, unwilling to show how he felt. But Rusti needed to say it, no matter the reaction: "I love you." There. It was said. She settled under her covers, expecting nothing.

Prime lingered. It made him uncomfortable. Love was such a complex concept. Humans used the word for everything in their lives; often with such frivolity. They loved their children, but not like their sports or their possessions. But then the Humans were a species who did not live a life where every waking moment was spent under military discipline. Humans did not understand war like Transformers and so they could afford such flippancy. Love, for a Transformer, came with a heavy price: The eventuality of death by destruction. A Transformer could ill afford such emotional bonds. Yet in spite of the pain of the apprehension of death, many Autobots bonded.

Still, even Optimus Prime could not deny what he felt: "I love you, Rusti." his deep soft voice echoed tenderly through the silence of the room. "Dearly." he added.

With that, he closed the door and Rusti clutched her pillow tightly, a contented smile touched her face. She would sleep without evil dreams after all.

Two days later, Rusti greeted the sun, stepping onto her favorite balcony facing westward. Distant clouds sheltered the higher peaks of the Cascade mountain range from the late springtime sun.

She sat at a table and set a soda and her scrap book on the table's cool metal surface. Once again, she would leaf through the book and struggle to recall memories that evaded her like the cold shadows in a warm afternoon sun.

Rusti opened the scrap book and stared at news clippings. There were a few photographs on the next page with notes scratched out in colored inks. Letters from Dezi filled several other pages, letters describing birthday parties, a camping trip to Alturas, California and a ticket stub to an expensive art show.

Noise from the courtyard below caught the girl's attention and she peered over the walled rim. Rodimus, Sunstreaker, Springer, Drawback and Brainstorm tackled with the Dinobots in a dangerous game of football-dangerous because they're not supposed to be playing football anywhere but in the football field. Rusti assumed it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, most likely Roddi's idea.

She watched as Springer passed the titanium ball to Rodimus. The Autobot leader dodged a tackle by Grimlock only to get swept up by Swoop. He landed hard on Sludge and rode the Dinobot like a bull, making a mad run for the goal line.

Instead, Slag crossed their path, confusing the Dinobot brontosaur. Sludge turned right and headed for the nearby fountain.

Rusti grinned as Rodimus and Sludge ended neck-deep in cold water.

But her mirth did not last. Cody was gone. Eighteen months of her life had vanished without hope of ever regaining her memories. She wanted things to be the way they were before the Matrix contacted the virus, before Optimus Prime's illness.

Nothing would be the same now.

Rusti flipped through more pages in her scrap book, not even amused at the Dinobots' clumsy attempt to catch the football Roddi tossed to Brainstorm. The Headmaster fumbled and ended beneath Slag's weight.

Rusti reflected the unfairness of life. Why should other people be so happy and whole while her life had gone so completely wrong? Just how much time did Optimus and Rodimus have before the blocking chip failed? What about the other disease she and Cody uncovered in the library? Was there any hope of help at all?

Rusti had no answers to her own questions and it drove her mad realizing she was powerless to do anything about them. She slammed the scrapbook shut, shoved it away and crossed her arms. What use was it to recover the past when the future required more effort? The past was gone and no doctor or treatment could help her regain it. The future was too dark.

Still, she supposed, nothing was absolute. They were still alive. They survived, wounded, perhaps, but alive. Just today, Rusti thought it best to concentrate on where she was; out in the sun, in Fort Max.

Optimus promised he'd be nowhere but in the atrium, repairing damaged windows and his plants. Rodimus made certain all computer functions were locked. The situation was very funny. Neither Roddi nor Ultra Magnus wouldn't take no for answer. They were also the only people Prime would listen to (obey).

Rusti wished she could do something to help ease their suffering; put an end to their tormenting dreams or at least alleviate their terrible remorse. But they would have to work this out between themselves. Somehow they would have to find strength in each other.

How long before the delicate thread snapped? How much time before Optimus Prime indeed committed suicide? How much time did the Autobots have?

Rusti gazed again at the playful Autobot leader. Rodimus took a moment's rest. Injuries he acquired on the space station were not yet fully recovered.

He Touched her to acknowledge he knew she was watching. It dawned on Rusti: Here was Optimus Prime's strength. If only Rodimus could get past Prime's defenses, if only he could convince the heart-stricken Autobot leader that he was not alone in this struggle, that Rodimus was there for him.

But then, this was war. This was life. No promises could be made to say Rodimus himself would not die sooner or later, yet again, leaving Optimus alone.

Roddi caught the sadness of that thought from Rusti. He sent her a mental smile. Not today, lady-friend. Not today.

Rusti cast her eyes on the scrapbook. It was time to put it away and take each day as it came. She decided she could deal with that.

---------------------------------------

Optimus Prime traversed barren, dry valleys within the Matrix. Cracks in the ground bled. Dead trees stretched with twisted branches toward the sky, their weathered trunks resembled old worn faces. The cold dry air hurt his exostructure.

He treaded across a dry, cracked riverbed until he encountered a dead tree and a grave stone beside it. Kneeling before it, Optimus tried to read the epitaph. But the words and letters changed moment to moment. One sentence appeared, replaced by several words, replaced by a new paragraph, replaced again by a list. Unable to make out what it said, Prime merely cast his optics to the dusty ground. This was all that was left of the Matrix; a few memories and a great deal of turmoil. All that energy, all that life, gone.

Optimus heard Rodimus step up behind him. He half turned, meeting his friend with puzzlement.

Rodimus brushed all questions aside with a shake of his head. "It doesn't matter what it says." he meant the gravestone.

Prime glanced back at the stone. The words kept shifting and changing. The gravestone spoke but could not be heard.

"It does not matter." Rodimus insisted. He knelt next to Prime, taking his friend's hands in his. "We are all that matter, now."

Prime finally gave Rodimus his full attention, saying nothing.

He did not need to. Rodimus felt the very same uncertainty and turmoil. But unlike the Senior Prime, he had more resolve. "We are the beginning. You once said that all beginnings start with pain. Perhaps rather than allow this thing, this Virus to drive us mad, to separate us, we should let it bring us closer together. We share one another's soul. We have a relationship unlike any other, even in Cybertron's long history. And whatever that prophesy-the One who Lights the Darkest Hour-says, I won't believe it's meant just for me or just for you. It meant both of us."

Optimus merely sat there, listening. For a moment, Rodimus wasn't sure he was getting through. But then Prime had not retrieved his hands. He had not mentally pulled away. Rodimus dared to set his hands on Prime's arms: "I feel this too." he continued. "You're not alone in this anymore. That's what I'm here for. Optimus, I can't do this by myself. We have to reach out to one another. You said we should rely on one another, we need to learn to lean against one another." he shook his head. "But you keep pushing me out."

No answer. But Optimus shut his optics and bowed his head.

Rodimus sat on his knees and wrapped his arms about his friend. After a few minutes, Optimus followed, resting his arms across Roddi's back. Their souls Touched; one stabilized the other and both Autobot leaders finally found the mental and emotional strength they needed to move forward.

End

T.L. Arens

"The quiet . . . before the Storm . . ."