Maelstrom Chapter 35
The Longest Night
Author's note: This story is part of a LONG series called Maelstrom. It is strictly Gen. 1 - sorry, but that was all that was out when I started writing back in the late 1980's. It began as a fan-publication so the first chapters are in the form of a comic book! If you have not read the nine original Maelstrom Comics and the preceding text stories, I strongly suggest you do. This is a complex universe. They can be found at http// illmatar. deviantart. com (I have put double spaces between the URL here or FF . Net eats the link.) The comics and art which accompanies this series are there.
Most chapters of this series contain strong language and violence. Rated M for adult themes! Really! Transformers characters belong to Hasbro. Critiques adored! This scene contains strong language, violence, and sex. Rated M for adult themes!
Transformers characters belong to Hasbro. Story and OC characters are mine. Critiques adored!
Maelstrom Chapter 35
The Longest Night
Part B
CONTINUED FROM PART A
Medical personnel, about 200 in all, from all over Cybertron convened on Central. The overwhelming majority were Paradronian, with the exception of Pipes, Opal, Obsidian, and a handful of EDC officers with Transformer medical training. Even Spike, who technically fell into this last category, was prized off the Maelstrom long enough to attend.
They were covertly scanned for Conversion, and overtly sworn to secrecy for the next few days.
The news, when Optimus announced it with due reverence, rolled through the crowd in a shockwave of silence. Even Rodimus looked a bit nervous as the silence dragged out for several minutes.
Pipes finally squeaked, "Arcee! That's wonderful!"
The whole crowd erupted into pandemonium.
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There was a three day seminar on the reproductive files Elita's team had "discovered" down in the oldest labyrinths. The doctors absorbed and debated, listened and argued. Most were intrigued, over-whelmed and excited.
A few were enraged.
One left.
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Optimus Prime geared up for a long day.
It was time to write a speech.
The speech he was to give was to be the work of more than one Prime, although only Optimus would be recorded as its author.
He and Rodimus were scheduled for a "jam session" the likes of which they hadn't held in years, and Optimus was not looking forward to it. He knew Vector Sigma had pushed his feelings around a bit, but apparently he needed to be on the verge of shut-down or over-energized to be relaxed around Rodimus.
Rodimus stepped out of the lift and waved at him.
Optimus brindled. Immature. Mocking. .... No. Just saying hello.
It was definitely going to be a long day.
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If it had been anything else, anything less crucial, Optimus doubted he would have made it through the first awkward hours. Somewhere though he started focusing on what they were doing, not who he was doing it with. The anger he couldn't place and couldn't control slowly faded. The comments and revisions his partner made started sounding rational and helpful rather than sarcastic and condescending. Optimus felt as though he were two people.
He caught himself being snide and patronizing more than once and had an odd moment of surreal disassociation.
That's not me. I don't talk to anyone that way. I didn't talk to Megatron that way!
Rodimus seemed to not even hear the cutting edge in Optimus' remarks. Nevertheless, Optimus saw the faintest flinch, the slightest faltering in Rodi's smile. Op's jabs had hit home. The young Prime had reason to be happy, but Optimus would have expected that infamous temper to surface after comments like Op had been making.
Nothing. Rodimus was rolling with the barbs like he did with real blows during a fight. What an act of patience and loyalty...even devotion. What resolve it must have taken to suffer abuse without comment because Rodimus knew Optimus couldn't help himself. Obviously, Rodi had made up his mind not to respond to Optimus' Sigma-enhanced...what? Disdain? Scorn? Contempt?
Hatred.
Optimus finally had to admit it to himself. He really did hate Rodimus. Hated him like the senior Prime had never hated anyone, not even Megatron.
Well that would never do.
Optimus Prime didn't like what the assassin looking worriedly at him had to do, but hatred wasn't acceptable.
How had that happened anyway?
Simple. It wasn't his hatred. It was Vector Sigma's hatred.
Vector Sigma had plenty of reasons to hate Rodimus, but Optimus did not.
It was one thing, the senior Prime realized, to be told that you had been pushed and manipulated. It was quite another to find an alien thing crawling through your thoughts like some kind of poisonous centipede, burrowing into your mind like it belonged there. Lived there.
He attacked the attitude. I Do Not HATE Anyone! he told himself. And I especially don't hate Rodi! I do not hate Rodi! He willed the attitude to die - it didn't belong to him. It didn't belong IN him.
Suddenly, the flame-colored abomination started looking like a friend again. Just like that. Optimus felt like someone had taken a shorting circuit out of his brain....with a wrecking ball.
He put his head on the table, causing Rodimus, who had been doggedly ignoring the tension between them, to sit down and wait a moment before intruding.
"Optimus...are you OK?"
It was a diffident question.
How was it that the one person Optimus used to confide in before Elita's revival was afraid to ask if he was alright?
"No. I have a galactic sized headache," Optimus groaned.
"A headache?" Rodimus asked. Headaches in Transformers were almost unheard of outside of head-trauma.
"Yes," Optimus said.
"Should I get First Aid?" Rodimus asked. The worry in his voice...so clear. Assassin or no, this Autobot still cared. How had Optimus ever lost sight of that? Easy - Vector Sigma forced him not to see.
The headache increased. Optimus clutched his head with both hands and barely heard Rodimus summoning First Aid frantically over the com.
First Aid had come, fussed, and left again, saying there was nothing really wrong.
Rodimus sighed, and sat back down next to Optimus. He almost gave his partner a pat on the back but thought better of it.
"My friend, if I'm not mistaken you are experiencing the joys of a shattered Sigma compulsion. If you are feeling what I felt, it's like the stupid thought is gone, which is good, but it took half your cranial circuits with it. Not so good."
"Sums it up," Optimus said into the table.
"I'm sorry. Why don't you go home and shut down? This can wait another day," Rodimus suggested.
"No. We can't wait. Besides, I consider it penance for acting this way towards you."
"Don't be stupid. You don't owe me anything. Not even an apology. Vector Sigma owes me, and it is paying as we speak."
Pain or no, Optimus heard smug satisfaction in Rodi's voice. He looked up.
"Rodimus...what did you do?"
"Well, we cut it off from everything. No light, no sound, no little brains to manipulate. I felt sorry for it," Rodimus grinned.
Sorry for it. Sure.
"What did you do Rodimus?" Optimus groaned, putting his head back down.
"I decided to give it a bit of music to pass the time. That's all."
"Rodi...."
"Heh. I put 'It's a Small World' on repeat for its listening pleasure. Sums up its situation nicely doesn't it?"
Optimus moaned in despair. It hurt to laugh.
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The next day, Optimus Prime geared up for the most critical public speech he had ever given. His face was to usurp broadcasts on Cybertron, Earth, and even a few neighboring systems. He sighed to himself, plagued by an odd thought about how many nasty messages he would receive for disrupting people's favorite shows. Humans in particular took that kind of thing very personally and always wanted to know why the Autobots didn't schedule their addresses at night.
Of course, these people forgot on Earth it was always night, always morning, and always Prime-time somewhere. It was enough to make you want to send them a globe...and Rodimus had, on a few occasions. Most of the idiots missed the point anyway.
Why was he thinking about this stuff?
Because he was nervous, still had something of a headache, and was incapable of judging the consequences of what might go wrong if he didn't give the best performance of his life.
Knowing Optimus was still sick, Rodimus had offered to take over for this speech. The senior Prime had been sorely tempted, but they had decided together it wasn't a good idea.
Rodimus had been diligently working on his rakish reputation. They couldn't afford the number of people who would simply dismiss what he was saying simply because HE was saying it.
Optimus had brindled a bit over that, thinking it disrespectful. Rodimus never really did anything; he just never contradicted any of the rumors, and oh there were rumors. It was amazing how many affairs and wild parties the young Prime was involved in, especially at times when Optimus knew he was off-world hunting slavers, or holed up in his quarters with "his ladies", or flat on his back in First Aid's secret med-bay recovering from wounds received tackling auction-houses in the bad-lands.
It was necessary their people thought of Rodimus this way, but Optimus still wondered how the femmes who claimed affairs with him, or the hosts of these parties (who sometimes had the nerve to charge the Autobots for damages Rodimus supposedly caused!) felt so comfortable telling all-out lies about one of the Primes. The fact that Rodimus simply paid all of the claims from his own account or smiled and shrugged over the rest of the rumors surely emboldened them. Optimus sighed. They probably thought Rodi lived such a wild life that he couldn't keep it all straight. It made the liars feel free to take advantage.
Necessary, but right now very inconvenient.
Rodimus had apologized, and Optimus had patted his shoulder.
"Now you're the one who shouldn't be sorry. This was the deal we made, remember? I handle the speeches. How did you put it? 'Op, you have the voice and the paint-job for it! If I'm on camera everyone is so busy adjusting the color on their screens they miss what I say!'"
They had both laughed.
Now Optimus was pushing his headache aside and ascending to the podium, trying not to get jitters like a rookie.
Two worlds worth of cameras pointed at him. They had told everyone the news was to be momentous, and the command staff was given permission to act as happy as they liked in public, although not to say the reason.
Jazz had worn a party hat for the last several days everywhere he went. Springer and Arcee held hands and laughed at everything. Headline news reported Ultra Magnus was seen wearing a smile that didn't falter even when confronted with the Paradronian Cultural Commission's shrill demands about investigations into the recent riots.
This last had probably generated the most buzz...especially among the enlisted Autobots.
Optimus squared his shoulders and turned down his optics even more than he usually did when confronted by camera lights.
Headache forgotten, he told the universe the best news he could think of.
"My fellow Cybertronians, and allies from wherever you hail, I have the momentous honor to tell you Cybertron is soon to have its first born child. One of my most respected warriors and dearest friends has conceived a new spark...."
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The speech took nearly an hour. The question/answer session afterward took several more. The tone the Primes had tried to set was one of joyous caution. The details of this conception had all been changed, but the spirit of what was said was purest truth. The Autobots were welcoming this new life and all that followed it with delight, but they were unprepared for a huge surge in the population. Optimus and Elita attempted to show themselves as role models for restraint.
"Of course we are interested," Optimus told one reporter. "We have always remarked how lucky human couples were to be able to share their love for each other with and through their offspring. However it would be irresponsible for us to rush into this. Arcee's child is the most wonderful discovery, and we will make ready for its arrival with due haste, but the rest of us owe it to our young to be prepared for them before they arrive. For Arcee and Springer it is a miracle, for us it is a choice. We choose to be good parents before we are parents. We will wait until we know more and are ready. The records we found are old, incomplete, and above all, Quintisson work. There may be omissions, inconsistencies, or even outright lies. If nothing else, Cybertronians have evolved since those records were made. They are geared towards non-transforming slaves, not full-fledged warriors like our new parents there."
He called for any citizens of Earth or Cybertron who wanted to help in some way to volunteer. They would need teachers, care-givers, and the like to begin training...to begin working out what kind of training was needed! Everything from living quarters to medical centers would need modifying and expanding to accommodate the needs of the next generation. Equipment to read the new sparks' schematics and build their first shell accordingly had to be designed and built. First Aid and Perceptor already had a basic prototype for this in the works (so they claimed... actually they had full-blown blue-prints from the other dimension) but they would need more than one in a hurry.
Hotlines were set up for volunteers of all sorts.
Arcee and Springer were hammered with shameless questions about their "fateful interfacing" even after Optimus promised reporters that the medical personnel had already received full details on the triggering process.
About the point Rodimus (sitting on stage behind Optimus, looking as vapid and delighted as he could manage) saw Springer fingering an invisible blaster that was really one quick call to sub-space away, the young Prime decided it was time to give the couple a break. Standing up (rudely, many thought) in the middle of a line of questioning about how many times a week Springer and Arcee were intimate, Rodimus ushered the pair off-stage.
"Sorry folks, but we were warned not to let our new mommy get over-tired," he said cheerfully. Actually he was more worried about Springer blowing a circuit or someone's head off. Arcee was mostly ignoring the hub-bub and seemed quite content. He steered the triple-changer away from the over-zealous reporters.
Outrage poured after Rodi, which he smiled and waved at as if he thought it was applause. Behind the scenes things got a bit quieter.
"Thanks Rodimus," Springer said, leaning his head back on a wall and dimming his optics. "I was getting ready to lose it."
"I know. You'll get used to it in a hurry," Rodimus said.
"They were getting a bit personal," Arcee remarked as she squeezed Springer's hand.
"Don't answer a single question that crosses the line Arcee," Rodimus ordered sternly. "Those guys out there saying they have a right to know are full of slag. They get their answers from the medical report. End of story. If you crack even once they will hound you. I'm sweeping you and your quarters for hidden cameras from now on."
"You think they'd go so far as to...." Springer growled.
"Not most of them, but enough. Or haven't you seen how Earth celebrities are treated?" Rodimus asked.
"This isn't Earth..." Arcee said. Then she stopped. She and Springer were due back at Metroplex in only a few days.
"It doesn't matter. The Paradronian news crews are modeling themselves after the paparazzi. I can't really up your security guys, it's already the best we have, but I am gonna give you a full-time VISIBLE body-guard. Don't forget that Metroplex is Cybertronian territory. Our laws...not theirs. You broadcast THAT to anyone going overboard. I don't want a diplomatic crisis, but any reporter invading your privacy is gonna find themselves in lock-up 'cause *I* am the jury of their friggin' peers," Rodimus growled, optics flaring.
Arcee snickered. "You'll damage your rep. as the happy Prime," she teased him.
"There's nothing in my rep. that says I don't stand up for my friends, and my out-of-control temper is well rehearsed too," Rodimus said, optics not softening at all. "Honestly though I doubt it will come to that. Arcee my sweet, you had the heart of just about every Autobot when you were our only lady. They loved you then, they love you now, and if anything I'm gonna have fights over who's gonna be your body-guard first. You may have to put a smack down on some of our guys going over-board, but I doubt you'll have too many unwanted visitors."
Rodimus was right about that. She didn't have many unwanted visitors that first week. Just one. One was enough.
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Optimus Prime went on answering questions with First Aid and Elita for about two hours after Springer and Arcee were ushered to safety. Those on stage were glad Rodimus had gotten the couple out of the way, but the rude and embarrassing questions continued - they were just aimed at Optimus Prime.
As if he knew what positions his City Commanders took when they were joined.
Boy he was feeling that headache now.
When Rodimus appeared back on stage behind Optimus he didn't quite get booed, until Optimus started swaying ever so slightly on his feet a while later. Elita threw Rodimus a shocked and fearful look but Rodi was already up. He threw his arm around Optimus' shoulders in what looked like a friendly gesture to the crowd.
Optimus leaned his weight on Rodi's arm gratefully until the stage quit shifting under his feet.
"Well friends and neighbors," Rodimus sang, "I'm sure we could go on talking all night, but really I think it's time for a party, don't you?"
This time the reporters' jeers at his interference were drowned out by cheers from the general audience.
"Wave," he whispered to Optimus, who had just enough coherence left to comply. They waved at the audience. Rodimus went so far as to wink and blow a few kisses at some of the femmes, and then he steered Optimus off the podium and backstage.
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Most of Cybertron took Rodimus' light suggestion as an order. There was dancing in the streets for a full 48 hours after the Primes stepped off-stage.
As soon as they got out of sight of the cameras, Optimus collapsed and went into stasis lock. He felt Rodi's strong hands lowering him to the floor...he heard Elita calling his real name...then he was spinning into some sort of disjointed delirium.
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Scant moments later, in Central's hidden med-bay, Elita was scandalizing First Aid's sensibilities. She sat cross-legged on his exam table with her mate's head in her lap. First Aid's one suggestion that she move was met with such a fierce glare the medic was instinctively frightened.
Ratchet unhelpfully informed First Aid that the Elita in his home dimension had done the same thing for millennia and would only move if she really was impeding a procedure.
Rodimus prowled the room. First Aid knew from experience it was best just to stay out of his way, especially if he had gone all quiet on you.
"I really can't find anything wrong," First Aid explained.
"It's the compulsions," Rodimus snarled. "Lancer worried Sigma might have included a destruct sequence in anyone who broke them when I got sick. I was in human form though so maybe that made a difference. The headache was REALLY bad, but I don't know if that's just a normal result of breaking those blocks or if there was something more sinister going on."
Elita said nothing to either of them. She just murmured to her mate.
"Did it knock you out?" First Aid asked. He could find no medical cause for Optimus Prime's unconsciousness.
"I went to sleep, but only because they made me do it. I didn't faint. I was out a long time though, so maybe we shouldn't worry. Optimus surely has more implants and they were imbedded longer so maybe it's inevitable that he sleep. On the other hand, maybe that means we should worry."
Magnus ran in. He wasn't silent, but his feet were way quieter than they should have been.
"Arcee and Springer are safe at home and under guard. You were right. I had volunteers for the next three days and had to remind people their regular shifts still matter. How's Optimus?"
Rodimus just frowned.
"If he dies, I'm going down to kill that thing no matter what you say," Magnus vowed.
"If he dies you'll have to beat me there," Rodimus said.
Elita looked up sharply. "It's mine!" she snarled, "and so is anyone who gets in my way!"
Rodimus quirked up an eyebrow and a bitter smile. He nodded at his partner's mate. Magnus just grimaced and backed down.
Elita glared at both of them a moment and subsided back into muttering to Optimus.
Magnus took over the job of pacing the floor, so Rodimus found a chair and somehow perched on the back of it like a sullen, flame-covered gargoyle.
First Aid ran more fruitless tests and was at least gratified Ratchet couldn't think of anything either.
"He's weakening," Elita said, looking at her mate's vital signs.
"Optimus you'd better not be planning on cashing out," Rodimus grumbled to the air. "That'd spoil everybody's day. Not to mention being a bad omen for our new parents given all those superstitious buggers out there."
CONTINUED IN PART C