Jazz leaned against the wall, staring at the stump at the end of his leg and trying to ignore the uncomfortable stiffness in his arms.
Red Alert had turned the stasis cuffs to the highest setting before locking him in one of Mirage's vaults.
It was kind of amusing. The vaults were designed so it was hard to get in, but they probably wouldn't be that difficult to get out of.
A tiny part of him was tempted to break out and show up in the main meeting room, just to prove that locking him up was a waste of effort on their part.
But he held himself back.
Probably they'd just kick him out or hand him over to enforcement or something if they thought he wasn't going to be cooperative.
Prowl and that other mech—Mainspring or whatever his designation was—had kept looking at each other like they were confused about something. They'd probably been having a conversation over the comm. about what to do with him.
He hoped they decided to listen to him at least.
Maybe he shouldn't have tried to impose himself on the Autobots. Maybe he should have just written them a message or something. But where else was he supposed to go?
He tried to lean his helm against the wall, but his neck had seized up. Slowly he rolled his helm back and forth until it was a little more mobile. In a couple of joors, if they left the stasis cuffs on him, it would be hard to move at all, and his arms and shoulders would probably be so stiff and sore that he wouldn't be able to recharge.
If they left him here that long, he might give in and slip free of the cuffs.
A low energon warning flashed in the corner of his vision.
At least he was online.
At least he was online, and at least he'd escaped from the Decepticons, and at least he couldn't feel his leg. You couldn't do anything at all with your pain grid when you were wearing stasis cuffs, so if he could still feel the injury, sitting here would probably be a lot more unpleasant.
Jazz leaned his helm against the wall and shuttered his optics.
He wished he had someone to talk to, at least.
He heard distant pedesteps and focused on that, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from. He could feel the faint vibrations through the wall. Someone must be nearby.
The noise got louder, and then the door opened.
Well, that was fast. Had they made a decision about him already? Maybe Orion wanted to talk to him.
He was yanked to his pedes and guided from the vault. They had to half-carry him because the stasis cuffs were set so high, but they'd probably need to drag him anyway because of his missing pede.
He'd made himself familiar with the entirety of Mirage's tower within the first few orns of moving there, so he knew the route they were taking. He guessed correctly that they were bringing him up to the main floor.
It was bustling and busy—he recognized a few mecha, but there were some he didn't know too. A lot of them stared at him. They probably didn't see one-legged prisoners being dragged through the base very often.
They took him to the meeting room, where Prowl, Red Alert, Ratchet, and Orion were all sitting, waiting expectantly.
The guards sat Jazz down stiffly in a chair.
"Thank you," Orion said calmly. "You can go."
Jazz shuttered his optics as the guards left the room. The big librarian's voice was strangely comforting, but made Jazz feel guilty at the same time.
Primus, why had Jazz gone with Megatron? Of all the stupid mistakes he'd made, that one had to be the worst. He thought he had learned something from his time in Quantum.
"Really, Red Alert?," Prowl's voice said, and Jazz looked up to see the former enforcer stand from his seat.
"Really what?" Red Alert grumped.
Prowl walked around the table to where Jazz was sitting and turned the stasis cuffs down to a much more manageable level.
Jazz let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks, mech," he murmured.
Prowl didn't respond, but went back to sit by Orion.
"What the pit happened to your leg?" Ratchet demanded.
Jazz grinned. "I'll give ya a hint. Don't ever make Megatron mad when he's pointing that arm cannon at ya."
Ratchet glared at him, pushing away from the table. "Are you insane? Did you cross the entire fragging planet like that?"
Jazz shrugged.
"Doesn't that hurt?"
"Uh… no," Jazz said.
Ratchet walked over to him. "You didn't do that thing you did with Prowl's doorwing where you cut the nerve cable..."
"Um… might have done that, yeah," Jazz said. "I don't see what your problem with it is, mech."
Grumbling, Ratchet knelt by him and scanned his leg.
"So…" Jazz said, daring to look up at Orion, who had a concerned expression on his faceplate and hadn't spoken yet. "I have information I can give ya about the Decepticons… and I'd be happy ta join the Autobots, but I know ya probably can't trust me…"
He trailed off. They were looking at him weird again.
"What?"
"There's something we're… confused about," Prowl said. "Jazz, is there some reason… that you came back now?"
Jazz frowned. "I mean, yeah. Ashamed ta say I didn't leave the 'Cons on my own. I think Megatron just decided ta stop trusting me or something. He tried ta lock me up, and I ran for it… it's pretty simple. I don't think he trusts anymech, except for Soundwave."
And they'd taken his datapad—the one he knew would tell him why he'd joined the Decepticons. Maybe that had something incriminating on it—something he had wanted to keep from himself… but why had he wanted to hide the reason he'd joined the Decepticons from himself?
"Okay," Prowl said. "Here's another question. Are you missing any memories?"
Jazz stared at him. "How… yeah, actually. I'm missing a lot of memories. I think…" he looked down at the table. Should he explain? He did know he'd wanted to keep the existence of that datapad a secret.
Oh well.
"…I think there was a reason I joined the Decepticons. I wrote it down on a datapad, and then made it really hard ta get inta the datapad. I told myself if I ever questioned my loyalty, I should hack it and read it. But I don't remember what I wrote on the datapad, and I don't think I ever… Actually I guess I might have read it a few times, and then erased the memories for some reason."
He looked up to see every single mech around the table staring at him in horror.
"What?" he asked.
Silence.
"Well…" Mainspring said at length. "I suppose that would explain it all."
Orion put his faceplate in his hands.
"You what!" Ratchet demanded. "You erased your own memories!?"
"I don't know, probably," Jazz said, grinning. "I can't remember."
"Do you have any idea what you've done? You could have accidentally erased everything. That could have permanently damaged your memory recall functions, or even offlined you. Are you fragging crazy!?"
Jazz ignored Ratchet's blustering and looked up at Prowl, realization dawning in his processor. "Wait… Was I...?"
"You were never a Deception," Prowl said.
Everything clicked into place. "Aw, frag," Jazz grinned. "I've been beating myself up for orns wondering why the pit I'd sided with that crazy gladiator anyway. But I didn't, did I? That's a relief."
"A relief?" Ratchet said. "I don't think so. Orion, I'm taking him to my office. I need to make sure he hasn't permanently damaged himself."
"I was really a double agent?" Jazz said.
"Yes," Prowl said. "We had no idea how you were hiding from Soundwave, though. That…" The Praxian looked sort of ill.
Jazz laughed, shaking his helm. "All of ya were giving me such weird looks. I'm a genius though, aren't I? Just wish I could remember how I came up with that idea…"
"This is not something to joke about!" Ratchet pulled his wrench from subspace, brandishing it threateningly.
Jazz flinched away from him. "Hey, no beating up injured mecha. Isn't that some sort of medic rule?"
"Well," Prowl said. "Orion?"
Orion sat up again. "Jazz?"
"Yes, Sir?" Jazz said brightly.
He knew that as soon as the relief wore off he'd probably be kind of upset about the memories too, but right now he was just glad he wasn't going to end up out on the streets, or in jail or something like that.
He was an Autobot. He had been one all along.
He had learned from his mistakes.
"In light of everything… I'm almost glad we blew your cover by evacuating mecha from Tarn."
Jazz nodded.
"We're relieved to have you back," Orion continued. "And we'll discuss what to do going forward after Ratchet has examined you and you've had some rest. Does that sound reasonable?"
There was hesitant nodding around the room.
"Good," Ratchet said. "Red Alert, take these things off of him so I can get him to my office."
Red Alert got up and came over to take the stasis cuffs off. Jazz rolled his stiff shoulders, wincing. He glanced at the security mech, who muttered what might have been an apology and left the room.
"Come on," Ratchet said, helping Jazz to his one pede. "You need some energon, before anything else."
That, Jazz could agree with.
Councilor Halogen looked around the room. Only a few members of the Council—his closest advisors—were there.
That was good, because he was about to act without first putting his decision to a vote.
He didn't want to bother with that, and there was no time. The war had to end as quickly as possible—Halogen's superiors were already displeased that their plans were being disrupted.
And if Orion would not work with the Council, their only option was to encourage Megatron to end this conflict quickly. They could kill him and re-establish the peaceful order in the world afterward.
The gladiator had even less political experience than Orion, and it should be easy to manipulate him.
"Are our communications secure?"
"Yes, Lord Halogen,"
"Excellent. Contact him."
He waited several astroseconds, steeling himself as the screen at the back of the Council Hall lit up. He much preferred it when mecha came in person, and he could peer down at them on the distant Council floor.
The rebel gladiator's faceplate appeared on the screen.
"Good orn, Megatron." Halogen said. "Thank you for being willing to speak with us."
"I suppose you want to make some sort of deal with me?" Megatron asked.
He was far too direct. Far too easy to anticipate. That would make this easy. "We would like, at the very least, to open communications with you," Halogen said.
Megatron scowled. "You're lucky I'm even willing to talk to you once. I only agreed because I have a question for you."
Halogen raised an optic ridge. "Really?"
"Yes. Where is the Institute?"
The Institute? Halogen was taken aback. What interest did Megatron have in the Institute?
Senator Decimus spoke up. "It was destroyed,"
Megatron narrowed his optics. "You really expect me to believe that?"
"Why is this so important to you?" Halogen asked.
"Because it's an abomination," Megatron said. "And if I expose it and put a stop to it, then I'll be able to sway the public more to my side."
Interesting. That was a clumsy sort of reason, and if it was the real reason, Halogen doubted the gladiator would tell him.
"As Senator Decimus has pointed out," Halogen said. "That program has been discontinued—"
"Stop lying," Megatron said. "And tell me where it is, or you won't be able to speak with me again. I don't need you or your games. If you don't start answering my questions, then I will terminate the comm, and the next time you see me will be the orn you offline."
"Do not feel you can threaten us," Halogen said.
"Why not?" Megatron asked. "Do you really think Orion and his little army are going to protect you? Do you really think he won't turn a blind optic if I show up to offline his enemies for him? You appointed him as a Prime because you thought you could control him better than you could control me. However, even he outmaneuvered you, and now he commands his own army, outside of your influence."
Halogen looked down—Megatron had summed that up nicely.
"Is that why you contacted me?" Megatron asked. "Are you going to apologize for making that spark-eater a Prime instead of me?"
Halogen had not intended to appoint a Prime at all.
It had just sort of… happened. In the moment, there had been no question. The experience had shaken him in ways he couldn't afford to be shaken—not when they were so close.
"Tell me where the Institute is," Megatron said. "You have five astroseconds before I end the communication."
"The Institute was hardly our largest project," Halogen said. "And by all means not too successful. I don't believe knowing its location will help you at all."
"Then you shouldn't have any problems telling me where it is," Megatron said. "Three astroseconds."
"If you want to make a deal with us—"
"I don't," Megatron said. "Tell me where the Institute is and I may reconsider."
Halogen glanced to the side. Ratbat looked as if he wanted to say something, but was holding back for some reason.
"Time's up," Megatron said. "The next time you contact me, I expect to receive coordinates."
The screen went black.
Halogen frowned. Something about that conversation felt wrong. Had Megatron really just contacted him to make some random, unreasonable demand?
"Councilor Halogen?" Ratbat said.
"Yes, Senator?"
"What if we give him what he wants? Tell him where the Institute is?"
Halogen frowned at his subordinate. "And what would that accomplish?"
"If we tell him, and the Autobots, and find a way to get the timing right, we could force some sort of confrontation between the two sides and maybe hasten the end of the conflict. Barring that, we could set a trap."
"Ratbat, that's ludicrous," Decimus said. "Besides, the Institute is important, isn't it?"
"Not as important as ending the war," Ratbat said.
"How exactly do you propose to get the timing right?" Halogen wondered. "Surely we can't expect both armies to mobilize as soon as they learn the Institute's location."
"Perhaps not," Ratbat said. "But if we give them a time window—say we let slip information about the Institute moving to a new location some time in the next few decaorns. Then I'm sure both sides will make an appearance."
Halogen frowned.
"I don't think that will end the war," Decimus said. "They're unlikely to send large numbers of troops unless they have some reason."
"But—"
"Hold your peace, Ratbat, I'm not done talking," Decimus said. "If we ensure that the Autobots win that fight over the Institute, there might be a way to get Optimus back under our control before it's too late."
"Not your stupid ransom idea," Ratbat said.
Decimus narrowed his optics. "It's better than the idea you just presented. Yes, let's just tell both sides where the Institute is and hope they show up at the same time and bring enough of their armies that they all kill each other and the war ends."
Ratbat glared at him.
"Stop bickering like sparklings," Halogen said. "Senator Decimus, your proposal is a gamble. So is yours, Ratbat. However… if we are subtle enough, we may be able to maneuver this situation so that every outcome benefits us in some way."
"But…" another Councilor said. "Are we really going to sacrifice the Institute? Didn't…" he trailed off, but Halogen and the others knew what he was referring to.
"As Ratbat said," Halogen looked down at his podium. "Ending the war is more important. And we can pick up where we left off with the Institute when things have settled down."
He looked around at his fellow Councilmechs.
"Are there any objections?"
Silence.
"Very well. We will begin working on a plan." He commed his secretary, who replied immediately.
"Yes, Grand Councilmech?"
"Contact Neurosis. Tell him he's going to need to move in a few decaorns and he should be ready."
I can't believe I had to speak with those worthless pit-spawn. Megatron glared at the blank screen in front of him. So smug and sure of themselves… I'll kill them all some orn.
Halogen sent a comm. to someone. My fingers flew on the keyboard as I intercepted the message and initiated the process of decrypting it.
Megatron saw me move out of the corner of his optic, and looked in my direction. Did you pick something up?
While Megatron had spoken to the Council, I'd been carefully hacking into their communications system. I'd been trying to figure out how to do it for more than an orn, and even then I wasn't sure it would work.
But it had.
There were always holes, in every system.
Soundwave?
"Wait," I said.
I finished decrypting the message to the assistant, just as I caught another message leaving the assistant's computer console.
"Contact Neurosis. Tell him he's going to need to move in a few decaorns and he should be ready."
Perfect. I started trying to trace the second message.
"Well?" Megatron asked.
"Ten breems," I replied. Patience. We had the trail, and I just needed to follow it to the end.
It took six breems to track it. "Tagan Heights," I said, then listed the coordinates.
"Perfect," Megatron replied. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Soundwave."
I shrugged, then looked back at my computer console.
This felt wrong. All of this felt wrong. Megatron… but he still had Searchlight in him, somewhere. "Maybe…"
"What?" Megatron asked.
"If the Co-ouncil's evil for using the institute and hi-iring Quantum, what do-oes that ma-a-ake us?"
Megatron looked at me. You already know my motives are different from theirs. There's a difference between bringing up valid moral concerns and playing devil's advocate. "You know, Soundwave?" he said. "I think I'd like you better if you didn't talk so much."
I looked down.
"Don't take it personally," Megatron got up from the throne and left the room.
I stood at my computer, looking at the screen, but not really seeing it.
Apparently he was tired of me questioning his decisions.
But…
Primus, someone had to warn him when he was about to do something he might regret later. That had always been my role—even back when we were mechlings.
It didn't stop him all the time, but sometimes it made him think.
Then again, he was right. His motives were different from the Council's. The Council were thoroughly corrupt and made use of these resources for their own gain.
Megatron was going to use them for a different purpose.
It would be all right.
I couldn't leave him now—he was digging himself too deep into trouble. Without me, Starscream or Blackangle or someone was sure to turn on him and stab him in the back. I had to trust that things would work out—that I could help him before it was too late. I had to believe that the Searchlight in him could overcome the gladiator. I knew it could. Searchlight could overcome anything.
He'd been doing better back when we were still in Iacon. If only Orion hadn't pulled that stunt with the Council, things would be fine. Maybe things could be like that again, though, once the war was over and everything was settling down again.
I tried to get back to work. We had a lot to do, and I had to make sure no one stood in our way.
But I couldn't help wondering.
In the end, when I looked back... would this whole thing really be worth it?
Orion moved.
Logos Prime moved.
The game was over.
"How many times have you attempted this trial?" Logos Prime asked.
He always asked that, every time. Orion was getting really sick of playing this game "Six," he said. "Why do you ask?"
He didn't expect an answer. The old Prime rarely said anything during the game. "Why do I ask?"
"Yes," Orion said. "You always ask how many times I've done it before. Don't you already know?"
"No," Logos Prime said. "I don't."
He didn't know?
"You have failed to beat me," Logos said. "This trial will end now."
The glass room disappeared, and for a moment, Orion was floating in a sea of stars.
And then he was in the crystal garden again.
"That was your shortest one yet," Master Yoketron said. "I assume you didn't succeed?"
Orion shook his helm.
"Perhaps you could ask someone—maybe Prowl—to teach you how to play the game better."
Orion took in a deep vent and let it out. "Master Yoketron?"
"Yes?"
"You almost always ask whether I've passed the trial. What would happen if I simply claimed to have passed it?"
Yoketron raised an optic ridge.
"Not that I would do that..."
"Well, If I recall, there's some mechanism in place so you can't skip any of the trials. I think the files won't open in your processor unless you've completed the previous one, or something like that."
Orion looked down.
"That's not a good option anyway," Yoketron said. "You don't need to cheat. You can do this. Did you learn anything new this time?"
"Yes, actually," Orion said. "He doesn't remember the previous times I've attempted the trial. Maybe I can learn something from his strategy and then use it the next time."
"Hmmm…" Yoketron said. "That would be good."
"I've been thinking there must be some sort of trick to this one, like there was to the first one," Orion said. "I just need to figure out what it is. In that one, the walls weren't real. In this one… I need to find a way to use my resources."
"Hmm…" Yoketron said again. "Well, what are your resources, Orion?"
Orion thought. "The only things in the room are a table, chairs, the game, me, and Logos Prime. I guess I could refuse to play. Or I could knock the game off the table. I doubt that trying to cheat will help me."
"Definitely not," Yoketron said. "Logos must have been the one to come up with this trial. If I know him at all I doubt he would have left a way to cheat."
"You know him?"
Yoketron nodded. "I've met all of them, except for Micronus. I even met Megatronus once…" he grimaced. "He's decidedly unpleasant. I hope I never run into him again."
"Do you… wait, what?"
"Yes. The great legend of evil," Yoketron said. "The one your gladiator friend designated himself after. Someone was spreading rumors that I was the greatest fighter on the planet, and I guess Megatronus wanted to come find out if that was true."
"You… fought him?"
"And lost miserably," Yoketron said. "I held my own just barely long enough for some of the other original thirteen to show up and save me."
"I thought… I thought all of the original thirteen were offline."
"Except for Alpha Trion?"
"Well…" Orion said. "I didn't find out he was the Alpha Trion until recently. Of course, I suppose there's also Maccadam. But…"
"Maybe some of them are offline," Yoketron said. "But you forget I've been around since the second Quintesson war."
Orion shook his helm. "You've met Prima? Solus? Vector? What are they like? Do you think they are still online somewhere? Could you contact them if you wanted to?"
"We've gotten off the subject," Yoketron said. "You were asking me about Logos Prime."
"Yes." Orion tried to focus. "Logos Prime. Do you know anything about him that might be useful?"
"Well…" Yoketron said, frowning. "I don't know Logos very well, but from what I do know, he doesn't like to get directly involved in anything. He's more the sit back and make commentary type. I'm sorry, that's not very respectful. Probably not helpful either…"
"He doesn't seem particularly talkative," Orion said. "But when I asked a question, he answered."
"Not talkative, huh?" Yoketron raised an optic ridge. "That doesn't seem right."
Orion tilted his helm to the side, an idea forming in his processor. Yoketron was quiet, watching him.
"Let me try again," Orion said.
Yoketron nodded.
Orion readied himself, balancing his frame and shuttering his optics while he waited for Yoketron to slip the data stick into the port in the back of his helm.
And then he was back in the stars. He took a moment to stare out into the inky, spark-speckled expanse. This trial, despite being frustrating, was much nicer than the first one.
"Welcome, Prime," Logos said. Orion kept looking out at the stars. It all seemed so calm and peaceful from here. He knew it wasn't, though. Stars burned themselves out, planets collided. You just couldn't tell from so far away.
"In order to pass this test," Logos Prime said. "You must win against me at this board game."
A sudden thought came to Orion's processor. "What would happen if I didn't know how to play that board game?"
"Ah," Logos said. "That is a good question. Though, you do know how to play it. Its rules came from your processor. Obviously, it would be foolish for me to arbitrarily pick a board game. What if mecha had stopped playing it? It's hard to win a game you don't know how to play."
"How do you know how to play it?" Orion turned.
"Young Prime, I believe I just told you that."
He waited. Orion thought back. "You got the rules from my processor."
"Yes," Logos said.
"What if I hadn't known any strategy games?"
"Well, in that case I have a default one." Logos said.
"You don't remember the last time I attempted this trial, do you?"
"No. I don't."
"You aren't really Logos Prime, are you?"
"Of course not," Logos said. "Just a program he coded. He put all of his talent for strategy as well as his personality in me, though, so I might as well be him."
"Ok…" Orion said.
"Would you like to begin? As the guest here, you may take the first turn."
Orion sat at the table. "You've never been this talkative before."
"I haven't?"
"No. But then again, I didn't ask questions before."
Logos nodded. "Go ahead and move."
Orion looked at the board, then moved a piece. "Will you answer any question I ask?"
"Within reason," Logos said, and moved. "How many times have you attempted the trial?"
"This is my seventh. Why? Is that important?"
"No, I'm just curious."
Orion studied Logos. There were a lot of things he'd like to ask, but he needed to stay on topic. "So you'll answer my questions… will you tell me how to beat you at the game?" The other mech looked up. His brilliant, blue-white optics seemed to stare right past Orion. It was eerie.
"That is a very bold request, young Prime."
"I figured I might as well ask." Orion said. "So…"
Logos seemed to give up on the creepy, solemn expression and he sighed. "You've only attempted seven times?" he asked. "Really? It's meant to take mecha dozens of times before they get smart enough to try talking to me and asking for help."
Orion's spark leaped. Was this really going to work?
"You must be quite the Prime. What's your designation, by the way?"
"Orion," Orion said. "Or… I suppose it's Optimus Prime now."
"Optimus Prime," Logos said. "A good designation. All right." He looked down at the board. "Your biggest advantage is that I've never actually played this game before. I've played some like it, but this wasn't invented until after I coded the trial. I can still beat you, of course, but with a little study and experimentation, I can come up with some tricks for you to use next time. This is a good, well-built game, so it might not be solvable, but…"
"It's really that easy?" Orion asked. "You'll just teach me how to beat you?"
"Brilliant, isn't it?" Logos asked. "Of course, you have to ask the right question. And I get to decide whether I think you're being humble enough for my help. You'd be surprised how many don't think to ask their opponent for advice."
"Well," Orion said. "Normally, your opponent doesn't want to help you."
"Right," Logos said. "But see, these trials aren't about us trying to stop you. We want you to grow to be able to withstand the great ordeal it is to receive the Matrix. This one isn't about winning by brute force, this one is about thinking outside the box and being humble and teachable. You've done well at the thinking and humility. Let's see if you're teachable, shall we?" He gestured to the board.
Orion nodded, and looked down at the game board.
Orion un-shuttered his optics, then shook his helm and got up. He stretched, feeling stiff.
"Are you all right?" Yoketron asked. "You were in there quite a while."
"Yes," Orion said, checking his internal timepiece. "I'm doing wonderfully."
"Did you pass the trial?"
"No. But I will next time."
"You should probably go and try again next orn. It's getting late."
Orion shook his helm. He needed to do this while it was all still fresh in his processor. "It shouldn't take too long. I need to go one more time."
"What happened?"
"I talked to him," Orion said. "He was actually very helpful. But I need to do the trial again. Just one more time."
"Very well," Yoketron said.
Orion sat again.
It had taken a long time for Logos to teach him. Orion wasn't terrible, but his processor had definitely not been built for this kind of strategy.
The world dissolved and stars replaced the soft light of the crystal garden.
Logos Prime was there, with his board game.
This time Orion was ready. He sat and made the first move.
Logos moved exactly as his other self had predicted he would.
Orion made a show of thinking hard, then moved again.
The other mech moved.
The game went for a while before Logos made a move that Orion hadn't been expecting. It set him back a little, but he kept going. Before too long, he had everything in the formation that the former Logos had wanted him to.
The other mech studied the board thoughtfully. "You really think that's going to work?" he asked, then moved.
"No," Orion said, before making his move.
"No?" Logos asked, looking at the board again.
"But you seemed to think so." Orion pushed the last piece into place. "I win."
Logos Prime stared at the bored for a moment, then looked up at him and sighed. "It seems you do. I hate losing, but it's in the name of a good cause, I suppose. How many times have you attempted this trial?"
"This is my eighth." Orion said.
"So few," Logos said. "Someone outside of this must have given you a hint about it. You did ask me for help last time, didn't you?"
"Yes," Orion said. "And I suppose I did have some advice, but it wasn't about the trial specifically."
Logos nodded. "Well, fair is fair. Young Prime, you have beaten me at this game, and therefore have succeeded at this trial. You may proceed to the next."
"Thank you," Orion said. "It was good to meet you."
"Likewise," Logos said. "Good luck."
Orion nodded.
And then the room disappeared, and Orion fell out into the stars.